


Thunders Strong And Dire

by Sokkas_First_Fangirl



Series: By Flash And Thunder Fire [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Ancient Rome, Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Friendship, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memories, Non-Graphic Smut, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Roger Taylor (Queen), Protectiveness, Rape Recovery, Recovered Memories, Reincarnation, Reunions, Revenge, Slavery, Tags May Change, True Love, finding each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 14:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 29
Words: 50,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21824077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sokkas_First_Fangirl/pseuds/Sokkas_First_Fangirl
Summary: You wouldn't expect to find a god in a museum, but here Roger was, staring at the weapons that had once been his, drowning in memories and loss.He wasn't a king anymore, but that didn't mean he'd lost his powers.His family was missing. Roger was determined to find them all again, and bring them home.OR: The old gods aren't dead, and Roger will find his family, new gods be damned.
Relationships: Anita Dobson/Brian May, Brian May & Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, Jim Hutton & Freddie Mercury, John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Brian May & Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff, Mary Austin & Freddie Mercury, Peter "Phoebe" Freestone & Freddie Mercury
Series: By Flash And Thunder Fire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572601
Comments: 367
Kudos: 155





	1. King Divine

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this an AU of an AU. Remember that god-fic I wrote for Froger week? Well, I have some "canon" snippets lined up, but I figured this could be a fun side project/mini series in the meantime! I say "fun" but god knows Roger's gonna be the angst king, not just the king of the gods for quite a while.
> 
> Hell hath no fury like a war god scorned, just saying.
> 
> In any case, let's get to it!

_ “'Tis thine to brandish thunders strong and dire, to scatter storms, and dreadful darts of fire; with roaring flames involving all around, and bolts of thunder of tremendous sound.”  _ -Orphic Hymn 19 to Zeus of Thunder

  
  
  


It wasn’t where one expected to find a god. Granted, no one expected to find a god anywhere. Not anymore.

But here Roger Taylor was, sitting in a museum, staring at the staff and sword that had once been his. They didn’t have his whip. He wondered if anyone had ever found it.

The truth had been there, locked away in the back of his mind for years. All his life really. He always seemed to know about every war to have ever taken place (even those that had been forgotten by history); he knew strategy and war games like the back of his hand. When he was angry, storms appeared on the horizon. And oh, those storms. Where others hid from the tempest, Roger would rush outside, ignoring his mother’s furious shouts for him to get back indoors. He’d kick and fight as a child, wanting to stay outside, in the roaring wind, the harsh rain; he wanted to follow the lightning and thunder, he wanted to stay where he was certain he belonged.

He was certain his parents and sister didn’t remember. Michael didn’t seem to have any magic left, and wasn’t that a relief? Beides, when Winifred finally divorced him (as she never could have done in her last life) Roger barely heard from Michael. He’d like to keep it that way. They were all better off without him.

Besides, Roger had no qualms about killing him again if need be. The bastard didn’t even have his powers anymore.

But Roger did. The God of War, the God of Thunder and Lightning, the King of the Gods. Now simply Roger Taylor, eighteen years old, but just as furious as ever. Just as strong as ever.

He’d had dreams and nightmares all his life; he dreamed of bloodshed, of sacrifice and worship; he dreamed of storms, of a final battle for the throne. He dreamed of an encroaching enemy: he vaguely remembered holding someone in his arms, he heard himself say,  _ “We’ll meet again. We’ll meet again when the time is right.” _

He dreamed of sunshine, and laughter and warm brown eyes. He dreamed of three little ones running to him, eagerly calling  _ “Papa, Papa!” _

  
  
  
  
  
  


He didn’t remember clearly until he met Brian, when they were both sixteen.

He’d taken one look at Brian and it was like he’d taken a hard whack to the head. It  _ hurt.  _ Everything came flooding back, and he’d stumbled backwards, clutching his head. It was  _ Brian,  _ his Brimi; the Moon God, his best friend, his brother, his right-hand man. He was  _ here.  _ They were both here. 

But where were the others?

Brian had gasped, clinging to his desk, pale as snow, his mouth hanging open, and they’d stared at each other with wide, shocked eyes. Neither of them were able to take it in. Both of them, perhaps, were worried about being insane.

_ “Brimi?” _ Roger gasped, because he had to  _ know.  _ He had to know if he was imagining things. Dimly, he was thankful none of their classmates had arrived yet. What a spectacle they’d make.

“Rog…” Brian shook his head, clutching his own arms. “ _ How?” _

More students began to come in, and Roger grabbed Brian by the arm, pulling him from the room. He dragged Brian to the nearest bathroom and pushed him in. As soon as the door was closed, he flung himself as his friend, suddenly dangerously close to tears.

“Oh my God, it worked,” Brian said, clinging just as tightly. “Roggie, it worked.”

Suddenly,  _ oh my God  _ sounded like such a funny phrase. They  _ were  _ gods, the gods of old; the King of the Gods and the God of the Moon. Yet here they were, in a rather dank school, in a frankly disgusting bathroom, clinging to each other for dear life.

And Roger said the first thing that came to mind.

“Where’s Freddie? Where’re my kids?”

Brian’s grip tightened. He must have been thinking of Anita.

“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely, which wasn’t at all what Roger wanted to hear. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


They were inseparable after that. They threw themselves into their research, trying to find any clue as to where their families and friends might be. They hunted their old relics, and a part of Roger was both relieved and furious to know his staff and sword were in London, not Rome.

Well, he wasn’t in Rome either. None of them were. Or maybe some of them were, what did he know?

He felt like he didn’t know anything.

It was September fifth, and he’d been close to crying all day. He wanted to scream and rage; he wanted to summon a storm the likes of which the world had never seen. He wanted to start a war, to bathe the earth in blood until it gave him his family back.

He wanted his husband. He wanted his sons.

It was a constant ache. He wanted them  _ back.  _ His arms felt oddly empty without them. He looked around, always half-expecting to find them next to him. He’d imagine he was sitting on a throne, not a cold bench, or a lumpy sofa; he’d imagine he was in his palace, not in a cramped flat, a college lecture, or a museum. He’d imagine his Queen was next to him, that his children ran about them, that he wasn’t alone. He’d close his eyes and  _ remember,  _ clinging to his memories, because they were all he had now.

But he couldn’t afford to lose himself. He had to find them.

_ Freddie, Heydar, Caspian, Roshan; Deacy, Veronica, Phoebe, Mary, Anita, Jim, Joe, Dominique…Freddie...Freddie... _

Oh, Freddie.

His eyes went from his staff and sword, to Freddie’s tiara. One of his old favourites. The gold was dim now, a few rubies and dangling gold ornaments were missing, but Roger would know it anywhere. He’d asked Deacy to make it for Freddie, an anniversary gift. Their first one.

The world had changed so drastically. Everything was different. Nothing was familiar at all. The world he’d lived in, the world he’d ruled over, was long gone and it wasn’t coming back- but Roger could still  _ find  _ them, he could find his family, he  _ would.  _ The new gods be damned, the world be damned; he’d tear it all down if he had to.

“Rog?” Brian laid a hand on his shoulder. His eyes were gentle, sympathetic.

“How’d you know I was here?” Roger asked dully, looking back to the tiara.

“You’re always here on his birthday,” Brian said quietly. He looked at the staff and sword, shaking his head. He looked at the tiara and smiled sadly.

“They’ve even got Deacy’s bow and yet my harp’s in Rome,” he lamented.

“At least it wasn’t stolen,” Roger said, still bitter.

“At least you can see your stuff whenever you want,” Brian returned. The old debate.

Their presence helped; Roger liked to know where they were, he liked to know they were near. But he couldn’t have them back, not unless he stole them. 

_ There’s an idea,  _ he thought, eyes narrowing.

Brian, ever the (literal) mind reader, sighed tiredly. “No stealing.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Yet.”

Roger nodded. “Yet,” he agreed, because he fully intended to get them back too.

Outside, it started to rain even harder. The wind picked up, and Roger couldn’t bring himself to stop it. As his mood darkened, the weather worsened. 

_ If Freddie was here he’d make it sunny again,  _ he thought, try as he might to force the thought away. But it was there, and it was true. Freddie used to look at Roger’s storms, smile softly, and make it bright again. He’d sit with Roger for as long as was needed, until he was smiling again.

His husband; the Queen of the Gods, the Sun God. A former human slave, used and abused all his life, but still impossibly kind.

A tiny part of Roger almost hoped that Freddie didn’t remember anything. At the least, he hoped Freddie didn’t remember being a slave. He didn’t deserve to go through that hell again.

He hoped Paul Prenter and all the monsters like him were still trapped somewhere in the Underworld.

He doubted the world was that kind.

He wondered if Freddie was eighteen too, or older, or younger. He wondered if Freddie had their sons with him.

_ Just stay safe until I find you,  _ he thought.  _ Please stay safe, darling. _

If there was any mercy in the world, Freddie was at least with Phoebe and Jim, maybe Mary. Maybe he had parents; maybe he had a family all his life, instead of being torn away from them as a baby.

Roger liked to think that Freddie was safe, that he was happy. That somewhere out there, he was celebrating his birthday with people who loved him. He wanted to believe that Freddie was smiling.

Brian took his hand, gently leading him away from their relics.

“Come on, mate,” he said. “You can’t stay here all day. It won’t do you any good.”

Roger couldn’t argue. The weather was a dead giveaway of his mood, and it was truly starting to storm out there.

All the same, Roger looked back, eyes trained desperately on Freddie’s tiara.

_ Happy birthday, my love. _


	2. Unbending of Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The line between the past and the present can blur, and sometimes Brian struggles to keep on track.
> 
> A chance meeting just might help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bri time 💕 What's our moon god up to?
> 
> Some Brian lore, and a glimpse into how he's coping.

_ “Moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars.” _-J.R.R Tolkien

  
  
  


One thing Brian loved about this life, was having parents. 

He didn’t last time. He’d been born of a moonbeam, an infant with no family whatsoever. Queen Winifred had taken him in, but King Michael had always made it plain that, as far as he was concerned, Brian had nothing to do with him at all.

This time, he’d been born to Harold and Ruth May. Like all parents, they had their flaws: they were prone to putting too much pressure on him, always convinced they knew best, but they loved him, they loved him with all their hearts and souls, and were proud of him. They were open about it, they frequently said so.

It certainly made a difference.

They loved him, they were proud of him, but Brian also knew that he baffled them at times. He couldn’t say he blamed them. He was, as he’d always been, still prone to bouts of depression, especially in winter. He was dreamy, caught in his own head. As a child (and even now) he was often awake most of the night, always wanting to watch the moon rise. He’d fling his window open and lean out, staring at the night sky.

Some part of him, a part he didn’t understand then, raged and mourned that it was so hard to see the stars now.

It was no wonder he decided to study astrophysics, really. His parents had beamed in approval, and Brian knew they were already looking forward to introducing him to their friends as “My son, the doctor! He has a PhD you know!”

No, that wasn’t a surprise.

His love of music however? That surprised them.

  
  
  
  
  
  


It was something he utterly refused to let go of. He looked after the Red Special like it was a precious treasure, desperately missing his harp. He wrote song after song for Anita, and if he wept as he wondered where she was, that was his business and his only.

It was something he and Roger frequently mourned together. Where was Anita? Where was Freddie? Where were their loves?

He’d idly strum his guitar, close his eyes, and try to make sense of his memories, to sort them into some semblance of order. It was still so easy to get lost in his own head, to get muddled and confused. Memories jumped about, often catching him off guard.

He remembered battles; he remembered being one of the first to arrive the day Deacy was born. He remembered playing the harp for Anita, delighting in her smile. He remembered triumphs and glories, losses and fear. He remembered his temples, the worship that took place.

And it was such a simple, silly memory, but it came back to him again and again. The four of them had been together, he and his boys, arguing over music, some song they were trying to compose. 

He’d wanted more harp. Deacy had vehemently refused. Roger had snapped at them both to shut up, and Brian and Deacy (in a surprise move) had teamed up against Roger.

_ “I don’t care if you’re the King, you’re not messing with my harp!” _Brian had said furiously.

In the end, Freddie ever the parent, had separated the three of them, using his magic lights to hold them back. He was thousands of years younger than them, but they’d all taken one look at his glare and clenched fists, and they’d winced.

He’d forced them all into separate corners of the room. The King of the Gods, the Moon God, the God of Crafts, and Freddie (who’d only been a god for a year by then) had ended the fight in seconds, scolding them like children.

_ “And you’ll stay there until you’re sorry!” _he’d said primly, his nose in the air, his hands on his hips.

To be fair, it had worked.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Things didn’t start to really come into place until he and Roger went to college. They fled into the heart of London, clinging together in a cramped, draughty and at times _ smelly _flat. It was hideous, but it was home. Brian had Roger, his brother, his oldest friend and King with him. It was the best comfort he had.

And while he may have been studying astrophysics, he sometimes stopped by the Classics lectures, unable to keep away. He knew that Roger did the same. Half their so-called myths were missing. Many of the details were incorrect. The legends got jumbled up, so that things Deacy did were attributed to Jim, or things Anita did were said to have been done by Veronica, or both of them together. Even their names were mixed up: the humans gave them so many names and titles, until their true names were listed among the _ speculations, _not listed as facts.

Brian knew who was truly responsible for that, and it wasn’t the fault of the humans, not really.

Roger was right: the new gods by damned.

_ Basilio, _ Brian thought with an amused smirk. _ That’s a new one. _ He could have laughed as the professor explained that the Moon God seemed to have _ four _ names: _ Basilio, Ariel, Brian, Luan. _

_ I’m right here, _ he thought. _ I’m not a myth. I’m not make-believe. I’m here. _

It was hard to cling to that sometimes. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Roger he’d have convinced himself he was mad. Sometimes it still felt that way.

Everything was so _ different. _ Everything and everyone he knew and loved was gone. His old life was long gone, but sometimes it felt like the lines blurred. Sometimes, he felt like Brian May, the astrophysics student, the guitarist, son of Harold May and Ruth May. Other times, he felt like _ Brian, _born of a moon beam, moonlight in human form, always dreaming among the stars, looking over the night sky, crafting constellations for humans to find and delight in. He felt like the warrior he’d once been, a King’s right hand man. 

But then he’d blink and abruptly come back down to earth. Reality would come flooding back. He was simply a nineteen-year-old college student, broke like everyone else- no special favours to be had now!- yearning to make music, terrified of letting his parents down.

But one day, towards Christmas, everything changed again.

It was just starting to snow, and although Brian was freezing he couldn’t help but smile, because everything was so much prettier under a layer of snow. There were icy patches on the ground, and another boy slipped and nearly went headlong.

“Whoa, careful!” Brian cried, grabbing him on reflex. The boy’s long brown hair fell into his eyes, and he cursed as he nearly toppled again, pulling Brian down to his level.

Their eyes locked: wide, shocked hazel, and awed green-grey.

_ No way, _Brian thought, because there was no way, surely it wasn’t so easy as this?

Trembling, as much from happiness as from anxiety, Brian spoke.

_ “Deacy?” _

Deacy,_ his Deacy, their Deacy,_ gawped at him, his nails digging uncomfortably into Brian’s arm. Slowly, ever so slowly, he started to smile.

“Hello, Brimi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deacy makes an entrance!


	3. Pure Radiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie can't shake the feeling that something- or someone- is missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A look at Freddie's new life.
> 
> Some pretty damn good points were made, so Freddie's life in slavery won't really be focused on. It'll be mentioned, it'll be talked about, but when Freddie DOES remember, his main focus will be "where the hell are my babies?" 
> 
> As for Paul being in the tags...He's not walking out of this story in one piece either.

_ “Stepping high and featly, and radiance shines around him, the gleaming of his feet and close-woven vest. And they, even gold-tressed Leto and wise Zeus, rejoice in their great hearts as they watch their dear son playing among the undying gods." _-Homeric Hymn 3 to Pythian Apollo

Freddie could never quite escape the feeling that he was forgetting something. Something very important. Or someone.

He didn’t sleep well. He never had. His dreams made no _ sense. _Kashmira would laugh about some dream she had, where she was at a concert played by singing dogs, and he couldn’t relate at all. His dreams were choppy, confusing; they were usually blurred at the edges, sounds were often muffled. Things were too bright, and he ran down corridors that never seemed to lead anywhere. The sun shone so brightly it was blinding, and when he looked down at himself, he seemed to glimmer.

He dreamed of a glowing baby appearing in his arms.

He dreamed of a man with golden hair and piercing blue eyes; he was holding a spear, a storm at his back, but he smiled when he saw Freddie, and the storm vanished.

He dreamed of picking his way through the woods, a tall man and a petite woman following him, guarding him.

He dreamed that he was running from something, from someone; if he looked back he’d be caught, he’d die. Shadows creeped in, there was something tight on his throat, there was blood on his back.

After dreams like that, he always woke up screaming. But when he dreamed of a trio of laughing children, when he dreamed of the sun, when he dreamed of the man in the storm, he always woke up with his arms feeling strangely empty. He always woke up feeling like someone should have been there with him. His room suddenly seemed too small, too cramped, his bed suddenly seemed too narrow.

He couldn’t make sense of any of it. He hadn’t lost anyone, yet the feeling remained, persistent, nagging at the back of his mind.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Mary, Jim and Phoebe were his best friends, yet meeting each of them had been odd.

Mary had grinned as soon as she saw him. They were seventeen when they met: he’d wandered into Biba, and she’d taken one look at him and _ beamed. _When she came over, he’d been prepared to say that he didn’t need help looking, he was fine, thank you- but instead she complimented him on his coat and asked where he’d gotten it. Introduced herself. Started chatting like they were old friends. He was sure she’d land herself in trouble with the manager, slacking off to talk to him, but she didn’t seem to care.

In the end, he walked out of there with her number and her Instagram, a little confused, but mostly happy.

He dreamed of descending further and further into the earth that night; he dreamed of a woman in black robes, with flowers woven into her hair.

Jim had helped Freddie rescue his cat, Luna, from a tree. Freddie had tried to stop Jim from climbing the damn thing, because as soon as they started talking, Jim got _ dizzy. _He’d clutched his head and closed his eyes, and Freddie had freaked out, certain this stranger was about to faint.

But instead, Jim smiled ever so gently, squeezed Freddie’s shoulder, and got Luna down from the tree without further fuss.

Freddie dreamed of marching through the woods again, in search of someone, with Jim and Mary behind him.

_ “Roger won’t like this,” _Mary said. 

_ Who’s Roger? _Freddie wanted to ask, but he woke up.

And then there was Phoebe. He was new to Freddie’s school. He’d wandered into the music room while Freddie was practicing.

“That’s beautiful,” he’d said brightly. Freddie turned around to thank him, but Phoebe’s eyes widened. He’d gone pale as a sheet, wavering on the spot. His eyes brimmed with tears.

“Freddie?” he asked tentatively, starting to smile, but Freddie frowned.

“How’d you know my name?” he asked. Phoebe’s smile faltered, and he bit his lip.

“Lucky guess,” he said weakly. “Some of the others, they, uh...They said the best...The best piano player was a kid called Freddie.”

Freddie had let it slide, admittedly flattered, because he tended to keep to himself. His teachers nagged him again and again to speak up in class. The idea that any of his classmates told the new boy that he was the best at piano was surprising, but flattering.

And that night, he dreamed of a pair of gentle hands running over his arms; he was in pain, but wherever he was touched, the pain instantly melted away.

  
  
  
  
  
  


They were out shopping and Kashmira held up a choker.

“What about this one, Fred?” she asked, and Freddie froze. His hands went to his neck, every fibre of his being screamed at him to not put it on. The idea of anything tight on his neck was enough to make him panic.

It was a pretty choker, shimmering gold fabric, studded with tiny glass beads, but he wouldn’t- _ couldn’t- _even entertain the idea of putting it on. Not even for a second.

It looked like a collar to him, and he couldn’t stand it.

Freddie turned away from his sister, shaking his head.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Winter always made him miserable. It was freezing cold, cloudy, there wasn’t enough sun. It set too early, rose too late, and when it shone it was weak, nowhere near warm enough.

Freddie always bundled up more than anyone else, determined to stay as warm as he could. 

He loved the sun. His friends and family often teased that he was like a cat; he could be found lounging in the sun, dozing, every summer. When they went to the beach he preferred sunbathing over swimming. If he was in the back garden he’d curl around Luna and bask in the heat, smiling to himself.

He loved cats and, funnily enough, they seemed to love him. Strays were quick to trust him, and Luna was actually _ protective. _She hissed when anyone new came near Freddie; on rare occasions, she’d even swipe. 

But never at Freddie. 

She followed him throughout the house, she yowled when he was in the bath or shower, and wouldn’t let her in. She curled up on his bed and slept at his side; whenever he woke in the night, she’d lick his cheek and stare at the door, a tiny grey guard.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He’d never been a good sleeper, but it was worse when he was a child. He’d wake in the middle of the night, screaming over dreams he could barely remember, let alone make sense of. He’d run to his parents’ room, sobbing. Some part of him, quite a large part of him, expected them to _ not be there. _He was always certain they’d be gone.

But instead, they’d wake up as soon as they heard him scream. Jer would come running into the hallway and scoop him up, hushing him in Gujarati.

“Shh, baby, shh,” she’d coo. “It’s alright, darling, Mama’s here.”

Bomi fretted, even taking him to the doctor, to see if something could be done. They wouldn’t give sleeping pills to a child so young, but they asked a lot of questions about bullies, and if he was scared of someone, if someone was hurting him or frightening him.

There were kids bullied worse than him. He got teased for his teeth, for being small, but no one ever _ hit _him, no one ever pushed him into puddles or stole his things. There were some kids in his class all that happened to. 

He didn’t have the words then to explain how frightened he was of losing his parents and Kashmira. He didn’t know how to explain that he kept expecting them to disappear.

Years later, he was diagnosed with anxiety, particularly separation anxiety. But when he was six, everyone felt as clueless as he did.

  
  
  
  
  
  


When he was eighteen, he and Mary went to an art museum. He had an essay coming up, and he had to write about at least three Renaissance paintings.

A popular subject that year, one most of the question options was about, was the classics. The gods. 

One of the most popular paintings on display was a huge oil painting of the Queen of the Gods. The Sun God. He had five names that Freddie knew of: _ Helia, Sanyu, Freddie, Fortunato, Valerio. _ A lot of the myths said he didn’t have a name as a human: that he picked a name when he became a god; as a slave, he had no name. That always made Freddie pause, uncertain. It struck him as _ wrong, _ somehow. He was convinced, deep down, that the Queen always had a name. Perhaps he _ changed _it when he became the Sun God, but surely he always had a name. Maybe they’d just lost it, forgotten it.

He didn’t know why it should matter so much.

The most popular name seemed to be Valerio, though it varied depending on which era you were studying exactly. Still, that was what the painting was labelled as: _ Queen Valerio of the Sun. _

He was beautiful; he was painted with long wavy black hair to his waist, with tiny golden leaves threaded through his braids; he glowed with a faint golden light, he wore diamond and gold jewellery. He was sitting on a window seat, looking out at the heavens with a faint, melancholy smile, his long golden robes trailed to the floor; his eyes were such a deep blue they appeared purple at first glance. In the distance, the King of the Gods could be seen riding in a silver and gold chariot, sword and spear in hand.

“Wish I looked like that,” Freddie laughed, taking down notes; bullet-points describing the painting, when it was painted and by whom.

“You’re better looking,” Mary said. Freddie rolled his eyes.

“If I fixed my teeth maybe.”

“Don’t,” she said, so seriously that Freddie looked at her, startled. She was frowning at the painting, arms crossed. She looked _ angry. _

“You’re perfect the way you are,” she said, so quietly that Freddie barely heard her. But he did, and he could feel himself going pink despite himself.

“Thanks, Mary darling.”

Just like that, she was smiling again, but whenever she looked at the painting she scowled.

  
  
  
  
  
  


So yes, Freddie had his odd moments, his odd traits, and he knew it. No point in pretending otherwise. There were things he simply couldn’t make sense of: for instance, he always felt vaguely _ guilty _ after he went on dates or slept with someone. He could never quite shake the feeling he was cheating, which made no sense, he was _ single. _

He’d never lost anyone, but a part of him remained convinced he had.

When he held onto his cat, a tiny voice inside whispered he should be holding a baby instead.

His three best friends were insanely protective, almost like bodyguards. They looked at him like he was priceless in a way that even his parents didn’t. He didn’t understand, but it made him feel safe.

He still had nightmares where his family simply wasn’t there anymore. The house was empty, all their things were still there, but his parents and sister were gone.

And now more than ever he dreamed he was wandering through a beautiful palace, or lounging among flowers, glowing like the sun, while the actual sun shone overhead, brighter and warmer than it should have been. He dreamed he was in someone’s arms, in the arms of the man who brought storms. He was bigger than Freddie, stronger, and somehow Freddie knew, he just _ knew _ that this man could destroy armies, could destroy entire _ cities _if he so desired.

And Freddie knew this man would never hurt him. He knew he was safe.

But when he woke up, he was in his cramped flat, the flat he shared with Phoebe, Jim, and now Joe. He rolled onto his side and watched Phoebe sleeping, muttering under his breath, lightly snoring. It was five in the morning. No storms. No sunshine. 

It was just the two of them, like it always was, so why did Freddie feel like so many people were missing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, we'll see what Deacy was up before Brian found him.


	4. Shattered Into Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once, John was the God of Crafts, born of a volcano, already fully grown and armed.  
In this life, he's John Deacon, and he can't help but feel like he's meant to be somewhere else...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deacy time! Some lore, some flashbacks, and a peek at how he's handling this new life.

_ “But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all? And if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like you've been here before?” _-Pompeii, Imagine Dragons

  
  
  


In his last life, John had been born from a volcano.

It had erupted, one of the strongest eruptions on record even now, and he’d emerged fully-grown from the lava, his bow and arrows in hand, dressed in his leather armour, surrounded by a rich orange glow. 

Anita, Brian, Roger and Phoebe had been the first to arrive. 

John had understandably been confused. He knew his name, he knew his purpose; he understood that he’d been born from the eruption, from the destruction, but he didn’t understand _ how _ or _ why. _He hadn’t known what he was, and he was the only living creature for miles.

So he turned his arrows on them, even as an instinct told him that these people were like _ him. _Phoebe had held up in hands in surrender.

“Easy, friend,” Brian said soothingly. “We’re like you.”

Anita had beamed at him, skipping over the ashes and cooling lava like it was nothing. She’d only laughed when John refused to lower his arrow, unafraid.

“Welcome, little one,” she said happily. “I’m Anita. This is Roger, Brian and Phoebe. What’s your name, love?”

“John,” he’d said, still unsure of how he knew that. Who had named him? Had he named himself?

“God of Volcanoes then?” Roger asked, hands on his hips, like this happened every day, but until Freddie came along, until their children came along, John had been the youngest god.

_ Volcanoes, _John thought, eyes narrowed. No...No, not quite…It was there, on the tip of his tongue. He knew what he was.

“Crafts,” he corrected. “I- I think it’s crafts.” Not just tinkering, no- soon enough, he’d have his own forge, deep in a volcano of his own creation. He’d craft armour and weapons for his friends and family; he’d craft fantastical creatures and breathe life into them. He’d do favours for humans, those who deserved it, those who truly needed his help. Later, much later, he’d make toys for the little ones. He made jewellery for Veronica, delighting in her smiles.

But not yet. Not for a while. For now, he was simply _ John, _the new-comer. The baby of the family. 

And he was stronger than he looked.

The land around volcanoes may have been fertile, more fertile than most, but it was also a place of constant danger.

People, humans, gods and mythical creatures alike, had a bad habit of forgetting that.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Of course,_ John Deacon _couldn’t remember any of this, not at first, not for a long time. 

He loved to tinker even so. He’d fix old radios, he made his own amp, just to see if he could. He fixed his sister’s camera, he made a new clasp for his mother’s favourite necklace, the last one his father had bought for her before his death.

He was fascinated by volcanoes. It was one topic in Geography that he excelled at. He seemed to know all the facts before his teacher even started to explain. He just _ knew, _ and the knowledge stuck in his head. His Geography teacher, Ms Johnson, showed them some videos of volcanic eruptions; she even let them watch _ Dante’s Peak, _which John wasn’t too crazy about. 

As far as films went, he’d seen better, but he found himself routing desperately for Harry- at least _ someone _understood the danger.

During one video about lava, a boy in his class, Bill, called out “It looks like goo!” There were a few laughs, and Ms Johnson nodded.

“Sometimes it does,” she said, smiling. “It may look pretty, but you’d have to be mad to think of touching it.”

And yet, thirteen-year-old John had a sudden image of his own bare feet (bigger than they were now, with a braided leather anklet on one leg) walking across lava like it was grass.

_ You wish, _he told himself, shaking it off.

Still. The lava _ was _pretty.

  
  
  
  
  
  


When he learned about Pompeii, he felt oddly _ guilty. _

One of the few surviving documents, from a witness of the eruption, questioned why they had been forsaken by the gods.

_ ‘How have we offended you, oh mighty one? Bearer of fire, all-skilled artist, have mercy…’ _

_ But I didn’t do it, _John thought, and he had to pause, blinking rapidly at the page, trying to orient himself. Of course he hadn’t done it! It was thousands of years ago! No one had done it, it was simple science. Bad luck.

And yet, that night he dreamed of being in a huge palace; a great fire pit was in the middle of the throne room, and John was yelling at a man on a golden throne.

_ “I AM KING!” the man thundered, and outside a storm began to brew. On earth, Pompeii and Herculaneum burned as Mount Vesuvius reminded them all of her power. “I AM KING, AND IT IS NOT YOUR PLACE TO QUESTION ME!” _

_ “How could they _ possibly _ deserve this?” John demanded. _

_ Of all things, the King’s excuse was that the humans had not offered enough worship, enough sacrifice to him. _

_ And in that moment, John understood: this wasn’t just a slight on John, or to punish the humans. No, because they had offered plenty of sacrifice and worship to John...But also to the Prince, to Roger. More so than they had to the King. _

_ This was a warning to them all, but especially to Roger… _

John woke up gasping; his head was pounding, his chest felt tight, he couldn’t seem to get enough air, no matter what he did.

_ Ash, poison gas, lava, landslides, explosions, falling rocks, fire everywhere, earthquakes...Black plumes of smoke, ash and gas blocking out the sun for miles, home to John, harmless to him, but fatal, so terribly fatal to those he’d sworn to protect… _

It made no sense. None of it. 

And as far as nightmares went, watching beautiful ancient cities crumble, watching thousands of innocents die really topped the list.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Perhaps it was no surprise that he was drawn to the old gods. They had a god born of volcanoes, a god of crafts; he was typically depicted dressed like a gladiator, or in a short ash-grey tunic. His hair was tightly braided, he had a silver bow and arrows, enchanted with great strength. It was said he never mixed a target.

There was such a bow, such arrows, in a museum in Rome. Silver, in such perfect condition they could have been crafted yesterday. Legend said they belonged to the god.

John looked at pictures of them online until his eyes blurred and ached. Something in his chest hurt. His fingers itched, he imagined reaching into the screen and plucking the bow and arrows out of the image, into his hands.

He’d never had an archery lesson a day in his life, but here he was, wanting to shoot those arrows.

One of his favourite images of the god was a mosaic; it showed the god presenting a necklace of his own design to his bride, a sweet-faced girl with long brown hair.

The god had many names and titles, so many that no one knew what the original was. People seemed to just pick their favourites: _ Vulcan, John, Demarco, Hero, Darian, Alexander… _

_ The Smith, The Great Artist, The Flame Wielder, The Archer… _

John bought a silver necklace with an arrow charm on a trip into London when he was sixteen. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


The dreams just kept coming; eruptions, sitting and laughing with three other boys; a beautiful woman smiling at him, watching six rambunctious children playing in a garden...And an ever-increasing sense that they were faced with an enemy they couldn’t fight. Not this time.

_ Twang! _

_ The arrow was a little off centre, but it was the best hit their newest god had gotten all day. Dressed all in yellow and gold, the new god, their little one, their walking sunbeam, turned to John with a grin as bright as the sun he governed. _

_ “Did you _ see _ that, darling?” he cried, proud of himself, the most excited John had ever seen him in all these weeks of knowing him. _

_ “Brilliant shot,” John said approvingly- _

_ -He sat and listened to Brian play the harp, watching the stars overhead. _

_ “Could you teach me to play?” John asked. _

_ Brian looked at him in surprise, but he smiled. “Of course,” he said, and gestured John closer. He placed John’s hands on the strings. “Like this…” _

_ Veronica cried but beamed when she accepted his ring. She flung herself into his arms, laughing, kicking her legs, glowing bright pink. _

_ “Of course I’ll marry you!” she said. “I was waiting for you to ask! I-” _

_ Their wedding was beautiful. Both of them were glowing, the colours constantly changing, holding each other’s hands tightly, unable to look away from each other.- _

_ He and Roger were laughing as they knocked their wine back, watching the servants chase after the donkeys Roger had unleashed. _

_ “Aren’t the humans trying to make donkeys one of your symbols?” Roger asked, nudging him, and John groaned. _

_ “Don’t bloody remind me-” _

Of course, their names and faces all escaped him when he woke up. He just knew, deep down, that he was dreaming of friends. Of family.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, they waited for him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


It was his first year in college, it was near Christmas, and John was hurrying to catch his bus- not quite daring to run on the icy pavement, but going as quick as he could, teeth chattering against the cold.

Just his luck that he slipped on a patch of ice.

“Whoa, careful there!” a painfully familiar voice said, and equally familiar hands caught him. John slipped again, cursing as he tried to righten himself, nearly pulling the other boy down with him.

He looked up to thank the other boy, but the second their eyes locked…

Well, it all came flooding back.

The flood gates opened, and John _ remembered. _

He wasn’t just John Deacon. He wasn’t just an eighteen-year-old engineering student. He wasn’t just the son of Lillian and Arthur Deacon, brother to Julie Deacon. He wasn’t just funny old Deacy, playing his bass and tinkering with anything he could get his hands on.

No, he was also _ John. _The God of Crafts, born of a volcano; a warrior, stronger than he looked, lying in wait and dangerous to underestimate. He was Veronica’s husband, father to six children. He was one of King Roger’s right hand men, sworn to guard the three little Princes, one of the only people trusted to guard Queen Freddie in Roger’s absence. 

He was _ Deacy, _given that old nickname for saving a town by the name of Diaconus. Given that nickname by the very man who held him now.

He was a boy and a god, and he was looking at one of his best friends. One of the first to arrive at the scene of his birth.

Typical. Of course Brian got to him first.

His poor Brimi looked ready to cry, eyes shining with hope and fear.

_ “Deacy?” _

Slowly, trembling from head to toe, clinging to his friend like his life depended on it, John smiled.

“Hello, Brimi.”

Brian sobbed and pulled John into his arms, hugging him so tight it hurt, nearly knocking them both to the ground with the force of it, and John clung to him just as tightly. His memories were flying through his mind, too fast to keep up, and he clung to Brian to stay afloat, trying to make sense of this new reality.

“I missed you,” John told him, because he had. Even before he’d known _ what _ he was missing, he’d just known he was missing _ something. _

  
But this? This felt like _ home. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we know where all four boys are. Now we just need to start bringing them all together 😉


	5. Kings and Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you've all had happy holidays! Back to the gods drama 😆

_ "All-parent, principle and end of all, whose power almighty shakes this earthly ball; even nature trembles at thy mighty nod, loud-sounding, armed with lightning, thundering god.” _-Orphic Hymn 15 to Zeus

  
  
  


It was easily one of the happiest days of Roger’s life when Brian burst into their flat, holding Deacy by the hand.

Typical Deacy, he gave Roger that familiar cheeky grin and said, “Long time no see, Roger.”

Roger had hugged him so hard he nearly tackled him. The three of them stayed up all night, exchanging the stories of their new lives: parents, college, friends, hobbies, girlfriends, holidays...And what they’d remembered. Dreams and nightmares. A connection to their old powers that they hadn’t understood. Brian and his insomnia, always watching the night sky. Deacy, still tinkering, drawn to volcanoes. And Roger, knowing everything there was to know about war, happily standing in the middle of storms, instead of seeking shelter.

Deacy asked what they were all thinking.

“Where _ is _everyone?” he asked, clutching his cup of tea. “Are they even all in England?”

“Who knows,” Roger said, sighing. “I...I didn’t exactly _ pick _ a location. I just took it for granted that we’d end up in _ Rome, _not London. I tried to make sure we’d all be together, but…” But there was no way of knowing. Not yet.

But at least they had each other. The King and his right hand men, his best friends, his brothers. 

That didn’t stop the constant ache in his heart. He wanted his husband. He wanted his children, and he knew Brian and Deacy had to have been thinking of their wives; Deacy had to have been missing his children.

He thought of Heydar, fierce, brave Heydar. He thought of Caspian, his clever old brain-box, quiet but not to be trifled with. And he thought of Roshan, his baby; happy little Roshan with his big heart.

So like Freddie.

The three of them crowded in Brian and Roger’s room that night. They pushed the beds together and clung to each other. Hope bloomed in Roger’s chest. He had Brian and Deacy. Two of his oldest and dearest friends were here with him. They could do this. They could do it _ together. _

_ We’ll find you, _ he thought. _ All of you. Just stay safe until then. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ They couldn’t have seen it coming. There was a cosmic explosion, much like the one that had birthed the oldest gods, Roger’s grandparents, his great-aunts and uncles. _

_ But this one was bigger. _

_ The gods that emerged were more powerful than them. They quickly got into the minds of humans, whispering legends and prophecies in their ears. These gods were not interested in alliances or truces. _

_ “The strong survive,” their leader said. “That’s the way of gods.” _

_ “You have no idea,” Freddie said quietly. “What we’re capable of.” _

_ The so-called king laughed, sipping at blood red wine. “Oh, with all due respect, little Queen, yes I do.” He smiled at Roger, bright and kind, as if they were friends. “We can do this the easy way. Stand down. All of you. Leave and no one need be harmed.” _

_ “You’re mad,” Heydar snarled, but Roger held his hand up, staring the new god down. _

_ “Never,” he said calmly, even as thunder rumbled in the distance. _

_ The god’s smile faltered. “Oh?” He shook his head, sighing, gravely disappointed. “Well then. War it is.” _

_ The thing was, none of them had taken this new bunch _ seriously. _ Not really. They were certain they could handle it. They’d won every other battle and war in their lives. Roger had fought hard for his crown. He wouldn’t just hand it over to some up-start with a- well, with a god complex. _

_ These new gods did their work well. It wasn’t just battles and assassinations. They went for the humans, breaking down their fate, telling them false stories: that the gods had fallen. That they were dying. That the humans had been abandoned and forgotten. _

_ And when it all came crashing down, when Roger did what he had to do, they’d been terribly weakened. So many of their friends and family were already dead. They didn’t have the numbers and strength anymore. They’d lost the battle, they’d lost the war, and now their home was being ripped apart. _

_ “We’ll meet again,” Roger vowed, holding Freddie tightly. “We’ll meet again when the time is right.” _

_ They were surrounded by the last of their family. What few soldiers they had left fought to hold off the new gods. _

_ Freddie stepped back, his robes billowing around him; lightning flashed, his crown caught the brief light, and Freddie held his arms out to their remaining sons. The boys- men now- ran into his arms, and Roger held all of them as tightly as he could. He could hear Veronica crying, clutching her youngest tightly. _

_ He summoned all his strength, ignoring the blood still seeping from his leg, and began the spell. _

_ He was soon glowing so brightly that he couldn’t see past the light himself, but the last thing he saw was Freddie’s eyes, big and brown and frightened...But as they looked at each other, Freddie’s eyes calmed, softened. _

_ Impossibly, his Queen smiled. _

_ “I love you, darling,” he said, and before Roger could answer the magic burst out of him. _

_ He remembered one last flash, an explosion; a great rumble as his world crumbled for the final time. He heard the doors burst open, he heard Roshan scream, he heard the furious howls of the new gods as they realised they were too late to destroy them. _

_ Roger felt Freddie’s grip on him tighten, he was dimly aware of Freddie’s crown falling from his head... _

_ He didn’t remember anything after that. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


Perhaps it was only natural that they fell into old habits and started a band. They always used to play music together, so why not do the same now?

Only this time, it wasn’t just a hobby. This time, it became a purpose. It was something familiar to cling to. It united them. When all else failed, they had their music, because it sometimes felt like they didn’t have anything else.

Everything was new and often frightening. They often felt hopeless. But they had _ music, _all this new music, so much to experiment with.

Roger and Brian were twenty and Deacy was nineteen when Roger’s friend, Tim Staffell said, “Are you guys still looking for a singer?” Their last singer, Mike, had quit for another band.

“You know it,” Roger said, knocking his beer back. “Why?” After all, Tim _ had _ a band, with a rather unfortunate name. _ Humpy Bong. _Roger wondered if they’d been high when they came up with it. He’d laughed for nearly five minutes when Tim first told him the name.

“One of my friends has _ the _ best voice I’ve ever heard,” Tim said. “He’s in a few of my classes. Thing is, he’s...Well, he’s got some pretty bad anxiety. I’m just trying to convince him to try a few auditions, see it’s not so scary- and I know _ you _guys won’t be hard on him if he clams up.”

Slowly, Roger nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. He frowned. “Why doesn’t he just join you?”

“No spot for him,” Tim said, shrugging. Also fair enough, Roger thought. Tim waved the bartender over to order another beer, and looked back to Roger. “So? Should I tell him to come along?”

“Sure,” Roger said. “Why not? We’re holding auditions tomorrow.” He scribbled the address down on a coaster and handed it to Tim. “Doubt a lot will turn up.”

“Ah, don’t say that,” Tim said.

“Only three people showed up last time,” Roger said. It had been a waste of a day; all three singers had been shit. 

“What’s his name anyway?” Roger asked.

“Freddie. Freddie Bulsara.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Every time he heard that name it hurt. _ Freddie. _God, what were the odds?

_ Don’t be stupid, _ Roger told himself. _ It’s a common enough name. _Bulsara. That was interesting though. His Freddie didn’t have a surname. Never had. 

Even hearing that name had Freddie on his mind all day. How he’d glowed so brightly ever time they had a child. How Heydar had been created accidentally: they’d been messing with their magic, playful, and the next thing they knew their lightning and sunlight had combined to create a baby- a bawling, glowing baby, lying on the floor between them.

Roger had frozen, stunned, but Freddie had snapped into action, scooping the little lad up and holding him close, doing his best to calm him.

_ “Roger what did you do!?” _he’d demanded.

_ “You did it too!” _Roger had protested. 

Shocked as he was, Freddie began to glow, brighter and brighter as he held the baby.

He remembered once, he’d been in a rotten mood, so when some criminals were hauled in front of him he’d been in no mood to show mercy. But Freddie had rolled his eyes, taken his hand and said, “Oh don’t be so_ moody, _darling.”

Roger had still punished them, had them imprisoned, but Freddie easily talked him down from an impulsive execution order.

Roger had admired him for his big heart, his strength, his grace...He was _ good, _ he was _ kind. _He’d been through hell and back, but he didn’t take it out on others. Instead, he became absolutely determined to keep his new-found family safe.

And Roger had been determined to keep him safe too.

Maybe he would have managed it, to keep Freddie safe forever, if they’d remained the only gods around.

Maybe if he’d just given in...But no. The new gods never would have kept their promises, it had been obvious.

As Roger walked home, he looked at the sky.

_ Just you wait, Ryu, _ he thought furiously. _ I’m back. This time, I won’t fall. _

It was only a matter of time until the new gods figured out they were here. When the time came, Roger would be ready.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He did his best to put Freddie out of his mind; both his Queen, and the boy auditioning. He failed. Roger spent a restless night tossing and turning, unable to get his husband from his mind, and his children, because _ that _terrified him. Where were they? Were they together, or scattered to the winds?

He was exhausted the next day, but he brushed off Brian and Deacy’s concerns. He was just tired, they didn’t have to cancel for fuck’s sake.

“Now remember, Tim said his friend is- well, just really anxious and shy, so if he messes up, keep your gobs shut,” Roger said, yawning. He turned to start tuning his drums, eyes narrowed, resisting the urge to smoke- he didn’t want to deal with another of Brian’s lectures right now.

The door opened and there were quiet footsteps. He heard a timid little “Um,” and Deacy turned so sharply he tripped over a wire and knocked into Roger. Brian gasped, staggering back a step.

“I- are you okay, darling?”

_ Oh good God. _

Roger froze, too terrified to turn around. If he turned around, he’d disappear. It would be someone else. It wouldn’t be _ him _if Roger looked.

“I- I’m okay…” Brian’s voice cracked, and that painfully familiar voice said, hesitantly, “Do I know you?”

“Sorry?” Brian said shakily.

Roger could so easily picture him shaking his head and pouting, arms folded tightly. “I just...You look really familiar, darling. Have we met?”

Trying not to sob, Roger turned around.

_ Freddie. Freddie Bulsara. _

His Queen had a surname now.

There he stood, in a yellow t-shirt and tight jeans. His long black hair brushed his shoulders in its natural mess of waves and curls. His eyes were as beautiful as ever, the eyeliner only serving to make them seem even bigger. He still had those teeth, nervously trying to cover them with his upper lip.

He hadn’t seen Roger yet, too concerned with Brian, who looked ready to faint. Deacy shakily sat on the drum rise, mouth hanging open.

Roger stepped forward, willing his eyes to stay dry, forcing himself to stay steady.

_ Please let him remember me. _

“Freddie?”

Freddie, his Freddie, his husband and Queen, turned to him- and as soon as their eyes locked, Freddie swayed alarmingly, clutching his head, doubled over and gasping for breath.

“Freddie!” Roger pushed Brian out of the way to get to him, holding tight to Freddie’s arms. “Fred? Darling?”

Freddie had his eyes squeezed shut, but he suddenly jerked back. He straightened up, opening his eyes. 

“Freddie,” Roger said, cautious, suddenly terrified that Freddie would run from them, from _ him. _

But instead, Freddie said “Roggie?” quietly, like he wasn’t sure. But again, louder, happily, _ “Roggie.” _

He felt dangerously close to tears. He heard Deacy sob behind him, and Roger was grinning so hard it hurt. He nodded. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said.

Freddie laughed, tears in his eyes, and ran straight into Roger’s arms- and Roger didn’t hesitate to lift him straight up. Freddie’s legs wrapped around his waist, and Roger pulled him down to kiss him, his hand tangled in Freddie’s hair.

_ Finally, _ he thought, tears escaping before he could stop them, but who could truly judge him now? _ Finally, finally, finally. _

Freddie pulled back, gasping for breath, and was it Roger’s imagination or did he have a faint glow about him already?

“God, look at you,” Roger breathed. He couldn’t look away. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

Fredie laughed shakily, his grip tightening. “Oh, shut up,” he said. He looked at Brian and Deacy, smiling shyly. “Hello, darlings.”

“You took your time,” Brian said, but he rushed over, Deacy right at his heels. It was awkward trying to have a group hug when Roger refused to even put Freddie down, but they managed.

And then Freddie let out a startled yelp.

“Oh! Oh, this explains _ everything. _ Mary, Jim, Phoebe, Joe- no _ wonder _they’re so- so protective, and that’s why Phoebe knew me-”

“You already met them?” Deacy demanded, and Freddie nodded. Brian sagged in relief, his hands pressed over his mouth. So many of their friends were close by, and they already remembered. It was a huge weight off Roger’s shoulders.

But slowly, Freddie’s smile vanished. He was pale as a sheet, and he swallowed, clinging to Roger so hard it hurt.

“Freddie? Fred, love, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Freddie are you okay?” Brian asked, resting a hand on Freddie’s back.

But their Queen shook his head, starting to tremble. He looked at Roger.

“Darling, I- I saw Paul.”

The four of them were deathly silent. Deacy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, Brian shook his head in denial...But Roger looked at the fear in Freddie’s eyes, he thought of how they met, he remembered everything he’d ever seen Prenter do...How was he _ here? _He’d been locked in a cell in the deepest part of the Underworld. Why had he been let out?

_ They’re looking for us, aren’t they? _ Roger thought. The bastards _ knew. _

Outside, the sun disappeared behind black clouds, and a storm began to rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, we'll see Freddie's lead-up to this meeting; where he was, what he was up to, and how exactly he ran into Prenter...


	6. Reach Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie's memories all come rushing back, and suddenly everything makes sense: his anxiety, his love of sunshine, and his friends' overprotective attitudes.
> 
> He's going to absolutely kill them for not telling him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More god drama!
> 
> "Unfolding Time" is a bit of an unofficial theme song for this whole AU.

_ _

_ "The higher I am, the better view I find. As I lay down, observe it all unwind, no doubt or fear, my view is now clear.” _-Unfolding Time, Broken Iris

  
  
  


Everyone knew how much Freddie loved singing. He didn’t exactly hide it. He’d have _ loved _to be a singer- the only issue was his anxiety. The thought of getting on a stage made him clam up. His throat tightened, his hands got sweaty, and his voice would utterly dessert him at the mere idea.

He appreciated his friends’ concern, really, but they were also starting to drive him nuts. 

Maybe he’d be an artist instead. It involved a lot less interaction with people.

“You’d have to be insane not to use your voice!” Tim said, exasperated. “_ Christ, _ Fred, you _ have _to give it a shot!”

And trust Tim not to leave it alone either. One day he marched into Freddie’s flat with a grin.

“I’ve got you an audition,” he said.

“Oh no,” Freddie groaned, burying his face in his hands. “_ Tim! _Darling, I don’t-”

“It’s just with my mates’ band. It doesn’t have to be serious, it can just be _ practice. _”

Freddie glared at Tim through his fingers. “No,” he said, slouching in his seat.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Phoebe said gently. “Freddie, you _ love _singing.”

That didn’t mean he _ had _ to be a singer. God, he would have loved it, but...But _ him? _ On a _ stage? _Singing for a crowd? He’d have to be insane, and people would have to be insane to want to see that. 

Tim pushed a little folded up piece of paper into Freddie’s hand with a sympathetic smile.

“Just give it a go,” he said. “It might even be fun. That’s where the auditions are being held, and their number if you need it, okay?”

Freddie looked at Tim’s hopeful eyes and Phoebe’s encouraging smile, and he could feel his resistance crumbling.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Fine, I’ll give it a go.” He frowned down at the number. “What’s the band’s name anyway?”

_ “Smile,” _Tim said, shrugging. “Pretty sure it’s an inside joke. Roger used to be a dental student.”

Freddie couldn’t help but notice how Phoebe tensed.

“What did you say that name was?” he asked.

“Roger,” Tim said. “Brian’s on guitar, and John’s on bass.”

Phoebe just _ stared, _before something strangely hopeful came into his eyes. He turned to Freddie, beaming, and squeezed his hand.

“You should go, love,” he said. “Really, you should. I think it’ll be good for you.”

Well, Freddie had always been pretty hopeless at saying no to Phoebe.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He was so damn glad he hadn’t said no now. Here he was, wrapped in his husband’s arms _ (his husband! It was his husband, it was his Roggie!) _with his very best friends on either side of him

It felt like everything had clicked into place. He wasn’t just Freddie Bulsara, shy, anxious little Freddie, the baby of the group, he was _ Freddie, _Queen of the Gods, the Sun God. He was Roger’s husband, he was Heydar, Caspian and Roshan’s father.

_ Mama, _Heydar had laughed when he was feeling particularly cheeky.

At that, Freddie’s eyes snapped open.

“Roggie,” he said hoarsely. “Roggie- where are the boys?”

Roger tensed, his grip tightening so much it hurt.

“I don’t know,” he said, and his voice broke. “I’m sorry, love, I don’t know.”

Utter terror swamped him at that. _ Where were his sons? _ Why weren’t they here with him? They should _ be _here, where were they? Were they safe? Were they together? Were they all alone?

_ But Roshan hates being alone, _Freddie thought, tears stinging his eyes despite his best efforts. His baby. Roshan had always crawled into his and Roger’s bed. Nightmares or no nightmares, he simply didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to be in between his parents.

The memories just kept flooding back: Heydar practicing with a sword and spear to be like Roger, always wanting to protect his family. Caspian studying until he fell asleep in the oddest of places- the dining room, the gardens, even the throne room on one memorable occasion. Roshan eagerly trying on every piece of Freddie’s jewellery he could get his hands on, rubbing Freddie’s favourite oil into his skin.

_ “I’m like you, Papa!” Roshan, all of eight years old said, beaming. He faintly glowed, waving his arms up and down like wings, laughing when Freddie’s bracelets clicked together, twirling so all his necklaces swung. _

Freddie had to close his eyes again, trying to keep his head straight, trying to keep a grip on where and when he was.

“We’ll find them,” Roger vowed, fire in his voice. “Freddie? _ We’ll find them. _I promise we will.”

“We’ll find all of them,” Deacy said quietly, and it hit Freddie like a tonne of bricks that Deacy’s children must be missing too.

Their babies were all missing and _ Paul _roamed free. The very idea made him feel sick.

Freddie was human again, but he wasn’t a slave anymore. Never again.

This time, if Freddie saw him again, he’d kill Paul himself.

_ Never again. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ He’d only been a god for a few months. By now, the humans had accepted his existence in their myths and legends. When the oracles and prophets proclaimed the new Sun God was a former human slave- well, there was a rapid decrease in slavery. _

_ If nothing else, that was a good thing. _

_ He’d wandered down to Earth with Phoebe. He’d just wanted a break from the court, he’d wanted some alone time to get his head on straight. He’d simply wanted some quiet time to relax with his friend, and he knew that Phoebe was feeling overwhelmed by his promotion too, and in need of a break. _

_ They’d found a beautiful pond in the woods, and it was utterly scorching out, so they both jumped into the water, discarding their robes. Phoebe had seen him at his worst, so Freddie wasn’t exactly shy about stripping off in front of him, but poor Phoebe went bright red. _

_ But after a while, even Phoebe relaxed, lounging in the cool water. _

_ And then Freddie had the familiar sensation that he was being _ watched. _ The skin on the back of his neck prickled, and he _ knew. _ He’d been a slave all his mortal life, he knew when he was being watched. _

_ Just like that, he was furious. _

_ Snarling, Freddie abruptly stood, spun around and thrust his hand out- and sure enough, a mortal man was dragged from the bushes. Freddie raised his hand, and the man rose higher into the air. _

_ Freddie snapped his fingers on his free hand, and his robe flew over to cover him. Phoebe let out a startled yell and summoned his own clothes, pushing himself up onto the bank. _

_ But Freddie stood in the water, letting the hem of his robes float and twist about him. When he clenched his fists, the heat of the sun only grew harsher. _

_ “What do you want?” he hissed. _

_ Either the man was truly stupid or truly _ arrogant, _ but all he did was gawp at Freddie, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. _

_ “It’s true,” he said, hushed. “You’re as beautiful as the oracles say.” _

_ “Is that meant to flatter me?” Freddie demanded. He’d heard that shit too many times from Paul and his cronies. The only person who’d ever _ meant _ it was Roger. _

_ He was meant to be _ safe _ now. He was meant to be safe, to not be subjected to this anymore. He wasn’t a slave anymore, he wasn’t Paul’s little toy. He wasn’t anyone’s _anything. 

_ “You belong to yourself,” Phoebe had told him gently, and Freddie hadn’t understood what he meant at first. _

_ He understood now. He was his own, before he was anyone else’s. _

_ He was Freddie, he was the new Sun God, he was free, and _ no one _ was allowed to touch him or look at him without his permission again. _

_ Snarling, shaking, Freddie let his magic lash out; lights burst out of him, burning brighter and brighter. Phoebe screamed his name, the man simply screamed, but Freddie stood tall. _

_ The lights vanished and Freddie let the man drop. _

_ The man curled in on himself, screaming, his hands over his face, but blood seeped through the gaps in his fingers anyway. His eyes were gone. _

_ “I don’t know who you think you are,” Freddie said, hating how his voice wavered. He wanted to purely be angry, not frightened too. He was meant to be strong now, to fit in with the gods. Was he still just that frightened child deep down? Who was he fooling? “But _ no one _ is allowed to do that to me anymore.” _

_ He wasn’t surprised when Roger appeared in a flash of light, armed as if for battle. When he saw the mortal man on the ground, he stared in shock, but he ran into the water and pulled Freddie into his arms. _

_ “Freddie? Fred, are you okay? Pheebs? Are you hurt?” _

_ “No,” Phoebe said, shaking his head. _

_ “He deserves it,” Freddie said, thinking of Paul and his friends, of all the slave owners out there, of all the abusers and monsters in the world. _

_ He closed his eyes, letting Roger hold onto him. _

_ “He deserves it,” he repeated, thinking solely of Paul. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


“When the Queen caught the mortal man spying on him and his friend as they bathed, the Queen took his eyes,” the tour guide said, gesturing to the painting in front of them. It showed the Sun Queen clutching a bright yellow cloth to himself, barely preserving his modesty; the God of the Harvest, his friend, was half out of the water behind him, gaping at the mortal man before them.

The mortal man knelt on the ground, head thrown back, blood on his face.

Freddie raised an eyebrow and turned to Phoebe and Jim.

“Good for him,” he said. He took a quick photo of the painting, tilting his head. “What a pervert.”

Phoebe looked at him for a moment before he smiled, wrapping an arm around Freddie’s shoulders.

“After the shit he put up with?” Phoebe shook his head. “Yeah. Good for him.”

“I’d have done worse,” Jim drawled, and Freddie laughed.

“Oh please, darling, we all know you’re a teddy bear.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


The day before Tim insisted he audition for _ Smile, _ Freddie and the others were out at their local pub. They were students, so it wasn’t exactly high living, but cheap as the drinks were at least they were _ good. _

And as Freddie made his way to the bar, a tall man knocked into him.

“Sorry,” Freddie said, dodging aside. He looked up, their eyes met, and Freddie just _ froze. _Sudden terror seized him, and he couldn’t understand why every one of his instincts screamed at him to run.

The man was tall, quite handsome, with dark blue eyes and brown hair, a moustache. Somewhere in his early thirties if Freddie had to guess.

There was nothing frightening about him, but the way he looked Freddie up and down made his skin crawl.

“Do I know you?” the man asked. Irish, but his accent was different from Jim. From up North maybe?

Freddie shook his head, willing his voice to work. What was _ wrong _ with him? He had anxiety, but never like _ this. _ It wasn’t just terror either. He felt utterly _ repulsed, _disgusted. He wanted to scream, he wanted to run...And yet another part of him wanted to punch this man straight in the face, to smash his face in until there was nothing left.

The man looked him up and down again, and slowly started to smile.

“No, suppose not,” he said. “I’m sure I’d remember someone as lovely as you.”

Freddie’s skin was _ crawling. _

“Can I buy you a drink?” the man asked. 

Freddie knew better than to point out he was only eighteen. He knew what the response to _ that _would be.

But it finally unfroze him. He shook his head again, backing away.

“I have to go,” he said quickly, and ran back to his table.

“Freddie?” Joe was halfway out of his seat. “Buddy, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Freddie said honestly. Jim stood and wrapped an arm around him, helping him back into his seat.

“Is it anxiety, sweetheart?” Phoebe asked, face all scrunched up the way it always did when he was worried.

“I don’t know,” Freddie repeated helplessly. He looked around, but he couldn’t see the man anywhere. “I...I don’t know…”

  
  
  
  
  
  


It all made sense now.

When they finally untangled themselves, Freddie was still trying to make total sense of it all, but...But it _ made sense. _ It explained everything. The anxiety, the childhood terror that he’d lose his family. Why he’d always felt _ guilty _for accepting a date. Why he’d always loved the sunshine, seeking it out whenever he could. And the cats! Of course they followed him in the streets, they’d once been one of his symbols. It explained his friends’ overprotective attitudes.

It wasn’t just because he was anxious, or because he was the baby. It was because he was their _ Queen. _

He took his phone out and shot a quick message into the group chat: _ Everyone at home. Mary that means you too. _

_ Did something happen? _Phoebe asked.

_ Yes. _

He left it at that, and turned back to his boys, easily walking right back into Roger’s arms, where he _ belonged, _where it had always been safest.

“Well then,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  
And then he was going to kick his friends’ arses for _ not telling him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freddie's flashback is inspired by a myth about Artemis: in one myth, Actaeon spies on her as she bathes. In some versions, she blinds him. In other versions (the better known ones) she turns him into a deer and he ends up chased, and killed, by his own hunting hounds.
> 
> That may or may not be one of my favourite myths about her.
> 
> Next up, the boys reunite with Phoebe, Jim, Joe and Mary (and Freddie kicks off).


	7. Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thousands of years ago, Jim swore to guard Queen Freddie. Thousands of years later, he's still trying to uphold that vow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's interested, I've made a tumblr! Come yell at me! If anyone has questions/prompts/requests, throw 'em at me.
> 
> https://i-lay-my-life-before-queen.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Now, onward with the gods drama.

_ “All Knights must bleed. Blood is the seal of our devotion.”  _ -George R.R Martin, A Feast For Crows

  
  
  


Thousands upon thousands of years ago, Jim’s favourite sister had been captured by a Minotaur. Saoirse was the sister he got along best with, only a year older than him. All the local nymphs formed search parties with no luck.

Had King Michael still reigned, none of them would have had the nerve to approach the gods for help. As it was, Roger was King, recently married to the Sun God, and Jim had always heard good things about Roger. That he did his best to help people, even when it seemed hopeless- and certainly, Jim had felt hopeless.

Just his luck, Roger wasn’t there when Jim arrived. He was overseeing a human war, and Jim was told by a guard that they weren’t sure when he’d be back.

For a moment, Jim despaired, but the guard said, “The Queen is still here; he may be able to help.”

It was a fragile hope, but Jim clung to it. Maybe Queen Freddie could help. Jim hadn’t heard anything about the Queen being a warrior, but maybe he could assign some soldiers to help Jim’s family.

He was led into the throne room by three guards, their cloaks clasped with golden brooches shaped like the sun.

Despite his ever growing terror and despair, Jim knew a moment of awe as the double doors opened. The throne room was huge, with a painted ceiling so high that Jim had to squint to make out the figures. A great fire pit was in the middle of the room, the floor was a dark great marble, streaked through with golden veins. The silken curtains drifted slightly in a cool breeze coming from the open windows. There were two golden thrones on a dais; the larger one was carved with Roger’s lightning bolt and sword. The smaller one was carved with a sun. 

On that smaller throne, was a small young man. The new Queen. He was chatting with a petite woman, dressed all in black with a flower crown in her hair. Queen Mary of the Underworld.

Jim forced himself to keep walking, to not just fall to his knees and plead for help straight away.

“Your Majesty,” one of the guards called. “A nymph here to see you, sir.”

The Sun Queen, Freddie, turned to look at him. His shimmering red veil was held in place by a coronet, there was gold dust sprinkled on his arms. His dark eyes regarded Jim curiously, even a little warily. Mary frowned at Jim, her hands on her hips.

“Yes?” Freddie said, tilting his head. “How can I help you?”

“I- please, Your Grace, I-” Despite himself, Jim felt flustered as he knelt. With all these powerful gods staring at him, he suddenly felt very small and insignificant. Who was to say Freddie would even hear him out?

But the words tumbled out all the same; “My sister...She’s been kidnapped by a Minotaur, Your Majesty. She’s been missing for four days, and we can’t- we can’t find her. We need help,  _ please,  _ who knows what that thing will do to her?” He’d been doing his best to not think about what the Minotaur would do to his favourite sister, lest he truly go mad with fear.

His mother hadn’t stopped crying since Saoirse was taken.

One of the gods scoffed. He held a long roll of parchment and a quill. A scribe of some sort. “We’re all sorry, I’m sure,” he said, eyeing Jim with disgust. “But this is hardly worth bothering the Queen with.”

“The Queen can speak for himself,” Freddie said, glaring at the scribe. He turned back to Jim, instantly softening, and Mary finally smiled. “What’s your name, darling?”

“Jim, Your Majesty,” Jim said. “My name is Jim.”

“Where was your sister taken from?”

“From the shore of the Varaita, Your Majesty. It’s- it’s our home.”

Many of the gods present didn’t look impressed, or at all concerned. What did the issues of some nymphs matter to them?

But Freddie looked sincerely worried. For a moment, just a split second, Jim felt sorry for him. He’d only been Queen for a few months. Had he even been left in charge alone before now? Was Jim putting him horribly on the spot?

Perhaps. Perhaps not. All he knew was that the Queen smiled at him and said. “Very well. I’ll help.”

Jim sagged in relief, eyes brimming with sudden tears. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

He expected Freddie to order some soldiers to go with Jim and help. Instead, Freddie stood, and walked down off the dais, with Mary and a green-robed man at his heels.

“Just give me a few moments to change into something more suitable,” Freddie said cheerily, and Jim blinked at him, wrong-footed. What did Freddie’s clothing have to do with anything.

“Your Majesty?”

“Well I’m going with you, darling.”

Just like that, the throne room exploded into chaos, but Freddie smiled at Jim all the same.

  
  
  
  
  
  


It was no wonder really, that Jim vowed himself to the Queen’s service. He’d entered the woods fearlessly, with Mary and Jim at his heels.

“Roger won’t like this,” Mary warned, and Freddie glanced back at her.

“Well that’s just too bad, darling,” Freddie said with a smile. Admittedly, Jim was terrified of incurring the King’s wrath- he was putting the Queen in danger!- but mostly he was grateful. Freddie had ordered his soldiers to enter different parts of the woods, searching the Minotaur down; the Minotaurs had different territories around here, farther south than Jim had ever been, and it all boiled down to finding the right group.

And then they would have to actually  _ enter  _ that territory, and rescue his sister.

His friend Joe, an earth nymph, popped out of the ground.

“Still no luck, Jim,” he said apologetically- and he nearly fell over when he realised who was with Jim. “Your Majesties!” he gasped, bowing. Mary rolled her eyes, smiling, but Freddie got flustered, insisting that Joe didn’t have to bow.

The more Jim got to know him, the more he liked him. The safer he felt. The more  _ hopeful  _ he felt.

Maybe they could get Saoirse back after all.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Of course, they  _ did  _ get his sister back, and of course Roger  _ had  _ been furious. He returned from war only days after they rescued Saoirse, and at first he’d been understandably confused to find his husband entertaining a family of nymphs.

And then, when Mary explained, Roger flipped. Jim, his family and Joe all flinched back as lightning began to flash, but Freddie rolled his eyes and all but skipped into his husband’s arms.

“For pity’s sake, darling, I’m safe as can be,” he said. “You can’t just keep me in the castle all the time. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” Roger said, holding Freddie close. He kissed the Queen, burying his face in Freddie’s hair, and Jim just about heard him murmur, “I’m proud of you, love.”

But then those accusing blue eyes landed on Jim, and he’d been certain that he was about to be executed where he stood.

Instead, Freddie quickly said, “Jim’s offered to join my guards, darling,” and Roger’s suspicious gaze turned calculating.

“Has he?” he asked, and Jim quickly nodded. Roger’s eyes narrowed, and his smirk sent shivers down Jim’s spine.

“Well then. We’d better get him into training.”

(He suspected that Roger had a little too much fun pummeling him during “training,” but in the end the King agreed to let Jim guard the Queen.)

  
  
  
  
  
  


Of course, that was so long ago. Perhaps that vow shouldn’t have mattered anymore. But it did. To Jim, it did. It always would. So even though Freddie didn’t remember for the longest time, Jim looked after him.

He quietly watched Freddie’s back, always alert for danger. They weren’t fighting other celestial beings anymore, but that didn’t mean the world was safe. Far from it.

And Freddie was still so small, still so very kind. In so many ways he was still the Queen that Jim had vowed to serve. He was still sweet, still quiet; he still had a way of making everyone trip over themselves to help him. He still commanded a room’s attention, simply by walking in. 

So there was Jim, guarding him as always. There was Phoebe, always happy to look after Freddie. There was Mary, the seemingly sweet young lady, who could rip your soul from your body at a moment’s notice. There was Joe, warily watching anyone that asked Freddie on a date, glaring at anyone who got a little too touchy-feely.

Times were very different now, but a part of them all was still horrified whenever anyone touched Freddie. He was still their Queen, whether he knew it or not, and they couldn’t help but be shocked at people’s audacity. He was a  _ Queen,  _ the Sun God, and not just anyone was permitted to touch him.

He’d look at Freddie in the early mornings, when he was still sleepy and quiet, his hair ruffled, cheeks still flushed, bundled in his pyjamas with Luna in his lap, and he’d smile every time. Somehow, it was still so easy to imagine him with a crown on his head.

He wondered if Freddie would ever have a crown again.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Needless to say, he was instantly worried when Freddie texted  _ Everyone at home. Mary that means you too.  _ All they could get out of him was that  _ something  _ had happened. Jim expected a panic attack; maybe these friends of Tim’s had been awful, or maybe Freddie had run into trouble on the way home.

But when Jim burst into the flat, he found Freddie sitting on Roger’s lap, with Brian and Deacy on either side of them.

“Christ,” he breathed. Phoebe screamed.

“Miss us?” Deacy asked wryly, and Jim ran to hug him.

“What’s going on?” came Mary’s voice from the doorway. “Freddie, love-” She cut herself off when she spotted the King and his right hand men. “Oh,” she said, eyes shining. “Oh, you’re  _ here! _ ”

“They are,” Freddie agreed, eyes narrowed. “Now then. Anyone care to explain why you never  _ told  _ me?”

Ah. Maybe they should have expected that.

“Freddie, sweetheart,” Phoebe began, but Freddie held his hand up for quiet. They all fell silent, and Freddie stood, head held high. There was the Queen that Jim had met so very long ago; petite, but regal, commanding the whole room, elegant.

“No,” he said. “I don’t want excuses. I want  _ answers.  _ You didn’t tell me, not  _ one  _ of you even  _ hinted.  _ I want an explanation, Phoebe.” His eyes narrowed further, flashing golden.  _ “Now.” _

“Oh, love, as if you’d have believed us!” Phoebe protested.

“You’re  _ gods, _ ” Freddie snapped. “A god, a goddess, and two nymphs. You so  _ easily  _ could have proven it, you have  _ powers! _ ”

“We didn’t want to scare you,” Mary said quietly. 

“Oh for the love of- I’m not a  _ child, _ ” Freddie snarled. His fists were starting to glow. Roger looked around at them all, frowning, tapping his foot impatiently.

“We thought it was for the best,” Jim said weakly, flinching when Freddie glared at him.

“That was not your decision to make,” he said, as haughty and regal as he used to be in court. 

“We’re sorry,” Phoebe said.

“You will be,” Freddie said, turning away from them.

Of course that was when Joe ran in.

“The bus was late, sorry, I- what the  _ fuck? _ ”

“Hi, Joe,” Brian said, waving.

Joe looked around at them all. His gaze landed on Freddie and he sighed. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” Freddie said, raising an eyebrow. “Very much so.”

Joe sighed. He nodded. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Did you really think Freddie would laugh it off when he found out?” Deach asked, shaking his head. “Come on, guys.  _ Really? _ ”

“Well- we didn’t think he’d  _ laugh it off, _ ” Mary said, and Jim had  _ never  _ seen her so flustered. She couldn’t seem to look any of them in the eye, let alone Freddie. “We just...Freddie, sweetheart, we just wanted to protect you.”

Freddie glared at her, but he didn’t seem  _ quite  _ so cold. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on Jim’s end.

They had a lot of explaining to do, and they all knew it. He felt horrible when Freddie wouldn’t look at him, yet he was incredibly relieved to see Roger, Brian and Deacy. 

Some things never changed: Roger brushed Freddie’s hair back, as gentle as ever, smiling at him like Freddie was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. 

Brian clapped Jim on the back, faintly glowing. Deacy was chatting a mile a minute with Phoebe, and Mary finally relaxed somewhat. Jim caught Joe’s eyes, and his fellow nymph shrugged with a helpless smile.

“Think he’ll forgive us?” Joe asked.

“Eventually,” Jim said. He  _ hoped.  _

If he was honest, he expected Freddie to sweep right out of the flat, his bags packed, refusing to look at them. But when Phoebe asked Roger, Brian and Deacy to stay the night, Freddie noticeably softened.

“Of course,” Brian said. He glanced at Freddie and Roger. “Is that okay?”

Roger looked to Freddie, instead of answering. Their Queen frowned, arms folded, leaning against Roger’s side. Jim braced himself for an explosion, or for Freddie to storm out. 

But finally, Freddie nodded. “Okay,” he said quietly. He looked around at them all, frown deepening. “You have a  _ lot  _ of explaining to do.”

Relieved, Jim agreed. They all did.

If he was honest, his head was reeling. Just like that, Freddie remembered everything. Just like that, their King was in their flat, with his two greatest friends. Just like that, a large part of their family was home at last.

But so many were still missing; Anita, Veronica...And what about the children? Deacy and Veronica’s children- what had happened? Had they been reincarnated, or did they have to be born again? And the little princes? They’d been born of magic, so how had the spell affected them?

Jim knew better than to voice those concerns. If he knew his friends at all, he knew they were fretting too. If he knew Freddie at all, then he knew his Queen would be silently going out of his mind with worry.

For now, Jim focussed on telling Freddie everything. For now, he silently repeated his vow to himself.

_ “Do you Jim, nymph of Varaita, swear yourself to the protection of Queen Freddie, God of the Sun? Will you serve him, guard him, protect and honour him? Do you swear to lay down your life for him?” Roger loomed over him, royally attired, his sword at his hip; his crown was so large and ornate that it made Jim’s neck ache just to  _ look  _ at it. Every god was in attendance for this ceremony, crowded into the throne room. Freddie stood a little behind Roger, with his other guards gathered behind him. _

_ Jim looked at the King, so powerful, so imposing. And he looked at the Queen, his friend, stronger than he was given credit for, perhaps the bravest man Jim knew. _

_ And Jim nodded. _

_ “I do,” he said solemnly, his voice ringing out. “I swear to guard, honour, and protect the Queen, even with my life.” _

It was a vow he never broke. He was there, right until the end. And he was here now.

Jim could still uphold his vows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gang's (mostly) reunited! Next up, some Froger content, and hopefully some drama.


	8. Focal Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger compares past and present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short interlude of sorts: Rog and Freddie get some alone time, and Roger compares their old and new selves.

_ “And I found love where it wasn't supposed to be, right in front of me. Talk some sense to me.”  _ -I Found, Amber Run

  
  
  


It was hard trying to find space for them all. It wasn’t a large flat; Joe, Jim, Phoebe and Freddie were all packed into their rooms normally, tripping over each other.

In the end, they all crowded together in the living room, grabbing every blanket and pillow they could find. Phoebe fussed at first that they couldn’t make their King and Queen sleep on the  _ floor,  _ but Freddie cut him off by simply sitting cross-legged on the floor with Luna in his arms.

“Are you going to get in a flap or are we going to sleep, darling?” he asked, and that was the end of that.

It was surprisingly cosy, all of them clinging to each other under a pile of blankets, oddly peaceful, each of them happier than they could remember being for a long time. In the blink of an eye, they had so much of their family back. 

Which was why Roger didn’t expect to wake up and find the flat empty, apart from himself and Freddie. 

He woke up to silence. Luna was asleep on the armchair, Freddie was still in his arms, but the others were gone. A note had been left next to Luna, which read,  _ We thought you could use some alone time.  _ It was signed with all their friends’ initials. Joe had even added a smiley face.

If Roger was honest, he appreciated it. Happy as he was to find his friends again, he wanted to be alone with his husband for a while. He was happy to simply lie there and hold onto Freddie. He felt  _ safe,  _ and he simply couldn’t believe that Freddie was  _ here,  _ right here in his arms. It felt like being home again. It felt  _ right. _

He had Freddie back, he had his Queen back, and he could keep him safe now.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, simply lying on the floor and holding his husband close- because they  _ were  _ still husbands, no matter what, and oh good God, they could get married again! They could actually get married again, they could have Freddie’s family there this time.

Roger had no sooner thought it than Freddie woke up. He hadn’t changed: he still gave a soft little sigh, a tiny stretch, and pressed close against Roger, his eyes fluttering open. His eyes brightened when he saw Roger, and he leaned up to kiss him.

“Good morning, darling,” he murmured. “Where is everyone?”

“Out,” Roger said, squeezing him. Slowly, his hand crept up inside Freddie’s shirt, circling a nipple under Freddie gave an impatient huff; he rolled and pinched, and his husband squirmed, grinning, gasping. Roger felt more nervous than he cared to admit. He hadn’t been so nervous since the first time they tried sleeping together and Freddie utterly panicked.

But this time, Freddie pressed back against him, leaning his head back onto Roger’s shoulder with a smile. That sweet smile quickly turned into a teasing smirk as he slipped out of Roger’s arms and jumped to his feet, tossing his hair back.

“My room’s down the hall,” Freddie said, and he rushed away, laughing, leaving Roger to run after him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


It was late in the morning, nearly the afternoon when they finally took a break. They were clinging to each other on Freddie’s narrow bed, legs still tangled, both of them still faintly glowing. Roger let out a breathless laugh, staring down at Freddie, who smiled up at him the way he’d always done.

Roger kissed him again, one hand still playing with Freddie’s hair.

“Are you okay?” he asked, the way he always used to do, every time without fail.

“I’m okay,” Freddie confirmed with a sleepy smile. He leaned into Roger’s hand, smile widening. “Are you?”

“Perfect,” Roger said. He wound a strand of Freddie’s hair around his finger. “Fred, how old are you now?”

“Eighteen,” Freddie said. Older than he’d been the first time they met, then. “What about you, darling?”

“Twenty.” Whereas Roger was  _ younger,  _ thousands of years younger. Roger kissed Freddie’s forehead, still playing with husband’s hair, Freddie’s thin arms still wrapped around him. “Fred?”

“Yes, darling?” Freddie asked, looking vaguely amused.

“Could I meet your parents?”

Freddie blinked in surprise. “Oh,” he said. “I- okay.” He almost looked dazed, but happy. “You- you can  _ do  _ that now, I...I didn’t even think about it.” His glow brightened, his grip on Roger tightened. “You can meet Kash, too! Can I meet Winifred and Clare again?”

“They don’t remember,” Roger warned him. “I...I don’t know if they ever will. I haven’t even seen their magic flare up.”

“I’m sure they will, darling,” Freddie said, leaning up to kiss him. “We’ll find everyone, and they’ll  _ all  _ remember.” 

When he spoke like that, so certain, so regal, Roger couldn’t help but believe him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


They had so much to catch up on. Not just Freddie and Roger, but everyone. There was so much to talk about, so many years to discuss, lives to compare. Colleges, hobbies, jobs, new families, new friends. They were all so different, yet still so similar to how they used to be.

Phoebe was still gentle, still wishing to look after others. He was studying to look after the elderly and disabled, frequently volunteering at animals shelters with Freddie.

Joe still loved to cook- this time, it was his true passion. He was even in college for it and doing very well. He was still cheerful, still stubborn.

Mary was still smiling and quiet, with a hidden vicious streak. She was still petite, almost delicate looking, but capable of literally ripping your soul out, capable of destroying it entirely. Roger wouldn’t have expected her to work in Biba, but that was Mary for you. Full of surprises.

Jim was training to be a  _ hairdresser  _ to Roger’s surprise. He wasn’t sure what job he’d have picked for Jim in this new life, but hairdressing wasn’t it. And yet Jim still loved to garden, he still loved to be outdoors. It had always been an ongoing joke among them that Joe and Jim probably should have switched elements.

Of course, Roger knew what Brian and Deacy were up to: astrophysics and engineering respectively. A call back to their powers, to their old roles. 

And then there was Freddie, studying art and design. Freddie still had anxiety, he was still shy and quiet, but still capable of turning around and laughing in your face, firmly telling you to fuck off. He could still draw everyone’s gazes simply by walking into a room. He could still charm anybody.

He seemed happier. Less weighed down.

Roger could have cried to see it. He was relieved, so incredibly relieved. Yes, Freddie was still anxious, yes his mind was still struggling to process a lifetime of trauma...But this time he’d always been surrounded by friends and family, by support.

He found himself hoping quite desperately that Jer and Bomi Bulsara would like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next Rog (and Brian and Deacy) meet the Bulsaras. Trouble is brewing; flashbacks and an old threat abound...
> 
> Everyone's ages:  
Roger- 20  
Brian- 20  
Deacy- 19  
Freddie- 18  
Mary- 19  
Phoebe- 18  
Jim- 20  
Joe- 19


	9. Resurrection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble is brewing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More god shenanigans: fluff and trouble incoming.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING for mention of slavery/sexual slavery.

_ “This is my world. Oh, you took a wrong turn; now you're stuck in my world. Trust me this is gonna hurt, fire it up and watch it burn. This is my world.” _-This Is My World, Esterly

  
  
  


Thousands upon thousands of years ago, King Roger paced anxiously. Not much could make the King anxious, but this? It made him weak at the knees.

He was planning on proposing to Freddie, and he was a nervous wreck. They’d known each other for six years, been together for five; it was a short time to a god, a long time to a human. All the same, he found himself desperately hoping that this wouldn’t scare Freddie in any way.

He waited in the garden, sitting in their favourite spot, and as Freddie approached the sun grew warmer.

Freddie walked towards him with a smile, diamonds glittering at his throat and wrists, his orange tunic swaying around his legs. 

“Hello, darling,” he said brightly, sitting next to Roger. “Brimi said you were looking for me?”

“I was,” Roger said, feeling in his pocket for the ring. Sometimes it still amazed him just how tongue-tied Freddie could make him feel. One small young man, a former human, was enough to make Roger breathless. One smile, one touch, one glance at those brown eyes, and Roger was lost, and lost gladly.

“Freddie, I…”

“Yes, darling?”

Roger took Freddie’s hand, running a thumb over his knuckles, smiling gently. If his enemies could see him now, they’d never recognise him as the ferocious King and war lord they all knew.

“You know I love you, right?”

Freddie’s smile widened. “Of course I do, Roggie.”

Hardly daring to breathe, Roger took the ring from his pocket and held it out. Freddie’s eyes widened in shock, but he was starting to glow.

“I love you,” Roger repeated. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone before, and I- I can’t imagine a life without you, Freddie. Will you marry me?”

“Do you mean that?” Freddie asked quietly, eyes suspiciously wet.

“Of course I do, Fred,” Roger mimicked Freddie’s tone with a little grin. “Every word of it. I want you to marry me. I want you to be my Queen.”

Freddie all but flung himself into Roger’s arms; Roger nearly dropped the ring as Freddie kissed him, both of them glowing brighter and brighter.

“I love you,” Freddie said. “Of course I’ll marry you, you silly thing.”

Roger slipped the ring onto Freddie’s finger and kissed him again, holding on so tight that he nearly knocked Freddie backwards onto the grass. The sun shone brighter, the day grew warmer, and both of them were glowing brighter than they ever had before.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Thousands of years later, Roger was nervous for a whole new reason.

He was meeting Freddie’s parents. To be fair, they all were, so at least he wasn’t in this alone...But _ he _ was the one who’d be introduced as Freddie’s boyfriend (a term that admittedly irked him: he was Freddie’s _ husband, _ not his _ boyfriend _), not Brian or Deacy. They didn’t have to worry so much. He did.

“They’ll love you,” Freddie said with a confident smile- a smile which quickly wavered as he said, “Well- Mama will. I’m sure she will. Papa will ask lots of questions.”

They’d come up with a story: they’d say they met nearly two weeks ago, through Tim, and Freddie auditioned for their band two days ago. That last part was true at least.

Roger didn’t like the knot of anxiety in his stomach. He simply wasn’t accustomed to it. There was a part of him, eons old, that whispered he was a god and king; he had no reason to fear a pair of mortals. The rest of him, the side of him that was simply Roger Taylor, said he had every reason to be nervous; there was always the chance that Bomi Bulsara would skin him alive.

Well, it was a chance he’d just have to take.

Phoebe cheerfully wished him luck; Joe ran a finger across his throat with a mocking grin. Jim patted him on the back and offered a simple, “I won’t lie, Rog, Bomi’s pretty scary. Jer’s quite sweet though.” Mary just smiled innocent and offered not a word. That in itself put Roger on edge.

All the same, he rolled his eyes at them.

He held Freddie’s hand on the way to van either way, stubbornly telling himself that he had no reason to be nervous. He was meeting Freddie’s parents, that was all. Not the shades he’d known, the dead couple resting in the Underworld. No, they were likely very different people now.

He wouldn’t blame them for being protective, for wanting the best for Freddie. That much, at least, they had in common.

  
  
  
  
  
  


It took Mary nearly ten years to locate the correct souls. Both of them were middle-aged, “living” in peace in the Underworld, in the paradise they deserved. She’d searched for them in the land of the living with no luck, and soon realised that must mean they were in her domain.

“I found them,” she told Freddie gently, holding both his hands. Four-year-old Heydar looked up from his locks with a pout, and three-year-old Caspian squirmed in Roger’s arms.

Tears fell down Freddie’s cheeks, but he instantly began to glow, grinning, his sob was half a laugh.

“They want to see you,” Mary continued. “Are you ready to go now? We could wait a while, love.”

“I’ll never be ready,” Freddie laughed, his tears falling faster. He wiped them away in vain, and Heydar made a distressed noise, hurrying to Freddie’s side, clinging to his legs. Caspian looked seconds away from crying in sympathy, and Roger held his son close, kissing the top of his head. He reached for Freddie and wrapped an arm around him, balancing Caspian as best he could.

“Are you okay, darling?” Roger asked.

Freddie nodded, glowing even brighter. “I’ll go now,” he said. “Before I scare myself out of it.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


It was very different this time. The Bulsara house was quite small; the front garden was tiny, but neatly groomed. He could see lace curtains in the downstairs window, the front gate looked like it had been freshly painted.

They hopped out of the van, and Freddie led the way to the red front door, giving three quick taps.

The door quickly opened to reveal a tiny woman who looked shockingly like Freddie; her black hair was greying, but they had the exact same eyes, the same high cheek bones, the same warm skin tone, even the same sweet smile.

“Hello, baby,” Jer Bulsara said, hugging Freddie and leaning up to kiss his cheek, ignoring how he squirmed in embarrassment.

“Mama,” he complained, but she only rolled her eyes at him.

“Oh hush,” she said, all but pulling him inside, and smiling at Roger, Brian and Deacy, and gesturing for them to come inside. “Are these your friends, darling?”

“They are,” Freddie said with a nod.

“I’m Brian May, Mrs Bulsara,” Brian said; he held his hand out, ever the gentleman. Jer shook it, her eyes twinkling in amusement. Deacy hastened to do the same, cheeks flushing.

For a moment, Roger felt stuck. Just like last time, he was surprised by how much he wanted her to approve of him.

He fought the anxiety back and held his hand out as well, smiling.

“I’m Roger Taylor,” he said.

“Ah, Tim’s friend?” Jer asked. Freddie seemed surprised that she’d remembered, doing a quick double take, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s right,” Roger said, smile widening. 

Jer brought them into the living room, and there was Bomi. He’d been intimidating before, in his own way; he had a way of looking very judgemental, and as if he had all life’s answers. But now? Now he was still in a suit and tie from work, his hair neatly styled, his glasses only serving to emphasis how...Well, how _ stern _he looked.

“Hello, Papa,” Freddie said, and Bomi’s eyes minutely softened.

“Farrokh,” he said, and Freddie rolled his eyes.

Then Bomi spotted the rest of them and his eyebrows rose.

“Ah,” he said. “The new band, I assume?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Hm…” Bomi didn’t look happy. He looked very critical, and rather like he wanted to push them all away from Freddie’s side.

Well if Roger could win him over once, he could do it again.

Then again, last time he’d been king of all the cosmos. This time he was a biology student in a pair of ripped jeans.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Lunch was awkward, but you didn’t need to be a genius like Brian to guess that.

Bomi kept _ frowning _at him, it was like he knew.

“And you’ll look after Farrokh at these shows of yours?” he demanded, and Freddie groaned, burying his face in his hands.

_ “Papa!” _

“I don’t want you getting overwhelmed, child,” Bomi said sternly, but his eyes softened considerably now. His eyes instantly hardened again when he looked at the three of them.

“We will,” Roger said quickly. Deacy nodded almost frantically, and Brian chimed in with, “We’ll be careful, really.”

“And you’re taking your medication?” Bomi checked.

“_Yes, _Papa.”

“Good boy,” Jer said, patting Freddie’s hand. 

“Right, yes, well...There is something else I have to tell you,” Freddie said. His eyes flickered to Roger, and Roger held onto his hand under the table. “Roger and I are dating.”

Jer and Bomi both froze, their gazes locking on Roger. Just like that, they both looked a lot less welcoming.

“Are you?” Bomi asked lightly. Roger was certain that Bomi wanted to throw him out. His eyes narrowed, glinting behind his glasses, and Brian actually scooted further away from Roger. 

_ Brace yourself, _ Roger thought. _ Here comes the real interrogation. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


Around two in the morning, a man left a club. It was starting to rain, but no matter, his flat was within walking distance.

All told, it had been a good night; plenty of drinks, plenty of dancing, and a round or two of sex in the gents. His kind of night...If only he could get that boy out of his head.

He didn’t know what it was, or why that one random boy should stick in his head. He wasn’t normally one to fixate on a random pretty face days later. Maybe it was because the boy had rejected him, maybe it was because he’d slipped away before he could even get his name.

He’d been...Oddly familiar. _Striking._ That seemed like a good word for it. Petite, with big brown eyes, full lips, thick black hair, and a pair of hips he so desperately wanted to grab, legs for _ days… _

He hadn’t slept well in the last few days. The night he ran into that boy, he had the strangest dream. He dreamed of being in a huge villa, lounging in a beautiful garden; it was boiling hot out, and a pair of slaves were fanning him. Neither of them wore anything but their collars. Kneeling next to him on a silk pillow was the boy from the club, as naked as the other two, but unlike them he was also draped in jewellery; gold necklaces and bracelets, a matching anklet, and ruby pins in his hair.

His name was right there, on the tip of his tongue, but as he reached out for the boy, as he opened his mouth to say his name, he woke up.

He’d had similar dreams ever since. 

He shook his head, telling himself to just focus on the walk home. The drink was making him sluggish, that was all.

And then a man stepped out of the alley ahead of him. Very tall, quite thin, with shockingly bright green eyes and a grin that- well, uncomfortably reminded him of a tiger on the prowl.

“There you are,” the man said cheerfully. “Couldn’t remember where we left you for the life of me.”

_ “What-?” _

Faster than he would have believed, the man darted forward and laid a hand on his forehead. He was _ glowing, _his grin widening, his eerie green eyes almost manic.

And he _ remembered. _

He remembered marching into the Senate, all eyes on him. He remembered the banquets, the battles; he remembered the sacrifices to the gods. He remembered a beautiful pair of brown eyes looking up at him, the sweetest voice in the world calling him _ “Master.” _

_ Freddie. _

_ Freddie, Freddie, Freddie. _

The man stepped back with a satisfied smirk. “There we go,” he said. “Is that better?”

Paul Prenter looked at the stranger with a smile.

“Much,” he said, voice slightly hoarse, his head still reeling from all the new memories- or was that old memories now?

He’d been dead. He’d been very much so dead. Roger himself had slain him, and for what? For _ Freddie? _

“Good,” the man said. “Now- how would you like your little whore back?”

Paul looked at him and frowned. This was surely some sort of trick. Freddie was...Where _ was _Freddie? Surely he was long dead by now. What did this man care? And why?

“Who are you?” Paul demanded.

  
“Ah, where are my manners?” The man shook his head, grinning more than ever, and favoured Paul with a mocking bow. “My name is Ryu, King of the Gods. And _ you, _dear man, are my newest ally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised trouble and I'm gonna deliver. But hey, Bulsara lore 😅
> 
> If anyone wants to yell at me, or has any questions/requests, I'm on tumblr: @i-lay-my-life-before-queen


	10. Lift The Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snapshots: Paul broods, and Freddie reminisces. Both of them want revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Paul and Freddie's heads.

_ “Higher, farther, onward and upward. Who will call you ‘lord?’ Who will fall on bended knee? Who will lift the sword, and lay down his life for me? And lay down his life for me?”  _ -Onward and Upward, Tommee Profitt and Fleurie 

  
  
  


The target smashed as Paul’s ball of magic hit it. His aim was constantly improving. 

He wasn’t a god, or even a demi-god. Simply a resurrected human, gifted with magical abilities, courtesy of the new gods.

“Better,” King Ryu said approvingly.

Paul smirked, remembering long-ago battles, wars he waged eons ago. He’d hardly ever lost, one of the best commanders around, one of the richest and more revered. Powerful. Feared.

He’d been on top of the world. A member of the Senate with a beautiful villa in Rome, the heart of their empire; soldiers loyal to him, banquets and parties whenever he fancied, riches beyond compare and slaves to see to his every whim. And Freddie. His most beautiful treasure.

_ His, his his.  _ Always his, first and foremost. God, he’d been  _ there,  _ right there in front of Paul, and he hadn’t even known it. But he had to be close by, surely? If he was in the local pub, he had to be in the area, he just  _ had  _ to. Paul would take him back, and remind him of his proper place.

“Roger made him the Sun God,” Ryu had told him that first night, with a mocking grin. “And then he made Freddie his Queen, father of his heirs.”

The thought made Paul’s blood boil. He’d been devoted to Roger, God of War, and how had his service been repaid? With a swift, undignified death, and torture at the hands of Queen Mary. 

_ I didn’t deserve that,  _ Paul thought, seething. He destroyed another target, feeling the magic thrum through his veins.

Freddie was  _ his,  _ damn it. Paul had paid a small fortune for him, and hadn’t regretted it for a second. Freddie had been so  _ beautiful,  _ and Paul had been proud to show him off. Freddie was no  _ Queen,  _ he belonged to Paul.

So Paul would just have to take him back.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Thousands and thousands of years ago, Freddie and Roger celebrated their wedding. It was a beautiful, lavish affair, attended by hundreds, all of them watching reverently as the ceremony took place.

The legends said that neither of them had ever looked more beautiful than they did that day, both of them glowing, unable to take their eyes off each other.

Truth be told, Roger was glad the legends didn’t focus much on the wedding night. There were some things he simply wanted to keep to himself.

He’d walked into the bedchamber to find Freddie already lounging on the bed, stripped of all his clothing, still decked in his jewellery (though he’d taken the ornaments from his hair), with gold dust still on his arms. Freddie stretched languidly, looking like one of his cats, smiling at the sight of Roger standing in the doorway.

“Hello, darling,” he said quietly, holding his hand out.

Roger moved swiftly to his side, unable to look away from him, almost looking like he was hypnotised, his heart pounding. He took Freddie’s hand, letting his new husband pull him down and gently press their lips together.

“I love you,” Roger breathed, kissing down Freddie’s neck, delighting when Freddie hummed, rolling his hips against him. 

“I love you too, darling,” Freddie said, eyes shining, glimmering in the lamplight, beginning to glow in earnest.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Freddie wondered where they were meant to go from here. They’d all found each other by accident. How were they supposed to find the others?

_ Where are my sons?  _ he wondered, despairing. His fierce Heydar, his clever Caspian, his sweet Roshan. His babies. He had to bring them home, but how?

“Are you okay?” Jim asked, and Freddie snapped back to reality. He was sitting in his kitchen, staring into his rapidly cooling cup of tea, which he’d yet to even touch.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“We’ll find them,” Jim promised, squeezing his shoulder. “We will, Fred. I know we will.”

Freddie nodded, telling himself that Jim was right. After all, they’d already found each other. Surely they could find the others. They’d get everyone back, and then...What then?

He’d run into Paul. What was Paul doing out of the Underworld, and why? Had it simply been an oversight on the new gods’ part, or had it been on purpose? Were they searching? 

Did they still intend to kill Freddie’s family?

_ I won’t let you,  _ he thought, feeling his palms heat up, feeling his magic thrum through his veins, singing in his blood.  _ You’re not taking them from me again. _

He’d get his friends back. He’d get his sons back. And then anyone who got in their way would burn.

He wasn’t just Freddie Bulsara, the anxious art student. He was Freddie, Queen of the Gods, the Sun God, and he was stronger than the new gods gave him credit for. They weren’t going to snatch his family and home away again. And  _ Paul,  _ no, Paul wasn’t going to ruin this for him either. Freddie wasn’t that frightened child anymore. He may not have his throne or crown anymore, but he was still a Queen.

The new gods weren’t going to get in his way. Neither was that slave driver. 

Freddie would fight, and this time he’d win. He’d make sure of it.

  
  
  
  
  
  


In another life, Freddie had felt as safe as could be. He remembered laughing as Heydar and Caspian ran towards him, while he cradled baby Roshan in his arms.

“Can I hold him, please?” Caspian asked quietly, and he patiently listened to Freddie’s instructions, sitting obediently to hold his baby brother, while Heydar huffed impatiently.

“You’re hogging the baby,” he said, and turned to Freddie. “Papa, he’s hogging the baby!”

Laughing, Freddie lifted Heydar straight up and sat with his eldest on his lap. “Oh is he? I’ll hog you until he’s done, little monkey.”

He’d felt safe, the safest he’d ever been. He’d never imagined it would change. Maybe he should have known better. After all, his human life had never been stable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: another flashback or two, and a timeskip. The plot moves forward now that we've set the scene...
> 
> Tomorrow I'm hoping to get the next two chapters of "An Eagle That Rides On The Breeze" finished and uploaded- sorry for the delay, guys!


	11. Until The Stars Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys meet an old friend, and are presented with a new opportunity...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we have a small time-skip and a reunion.

_ “I will love you and only you until the stars are shaken out of the sky.”  _ -Rachel Alexander

  
  
  


They all started looking for a flat right away. But where to find a place big enough for six gods and two nymphs? 

In the end, they had to split up, though they ended up across the corridor from each other, in a nicer part of town. At least Bomi and Jer stopped fretting so much about Freddie being out after dark; they deemed this new street “much better” with relieved smiles.

There was Freddie, Roger, Brian, and Deacy in one flat, Mary, Jim, Phoebe and Joe in the other. If Mary received any raised eyebrows for hanging around so many boys, she ignored it with ease. She was Queen of the Underworld, what did she care?

They were all together, and glad of it- yet there was a sense of mounting frustration. Where were the others? How were they even meant to start looking? They’d all met by accident, and they had to face up to that. Were they supposed to just hope for the best?

Did they even have much time? If Paul was wandering this earth again, surely that meant they were in danger? What if their magic had caused waves? What if the new gods  _ knew? _

_ Simple,  _ Mary thought.  _ This time I’ll kill them. _

She wasn’t about to let those up-starts destroy her life and family again. This time, they’d win. They had to.

Mary was the rightful Queen of the Underworld, and she’d make sure everyone remembered that.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ One year later… _

  
  
  


Leave it to Freddie to rename a band  _ Queen. _

“As in yourself?” Joe teased.

“As in Her Royal Highness,” Freddie huffed, snatching his logo design back. “And because it’s...Oh, it’s outrageous. It’ll grab people’s attention.”

“I like it,” Roger said.

“Of course you do,” Brian, Joe and Deacy said together. Roger gave them all mild electric shocks, smirking at them. Freddie held his poster safely out of harm’s way.

“In all seriousness though,” Brian said. “I do like it, Fred. How long did it take you to draw that anyway?”

“Far too long,” Freddie said, rolling his eyes. He smiled shyly. “You really like it, darlings?”

“Yeah,” Deacy said with a grin. “Let’s shock some snobs.”

If Freddie had to be totally honest, he was surprised by how well they were doing. They were, as far as anyone knew, just a group of college kids, yet everyone was talking about their band. More and more people were coming to their shows, and buying their CDs afterwards. Freddie still felt horribly anxious before each and every show, but...But it was so worth it in the end, to see everyone clapping and singing along, enthralled. 

It was worth the anxiety. Besides, he was doing this with his husband and friends: that always made things easier. Freddie couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else.

  
  
  
  
  
  


They had a show that very weekend, at a local pub. The place was packed when they arrived. The manager gave them all a friendly nod when he spotted them, and they managed to fight their way through the crowd to set up on the stage. Phoebe and Mary were in charge of selling the CDs, and they were setting up their table in the corner.

In a room full of college students, couples and friend-groups, the man in the suit stood out like a sore thumb. Freddie didn’t recognise him. He was quite good-looking; tall, thin, with neatly styled brown hair. The calculating frown rather put Freddie off, but...But he couldn’t sense any magic off the man. Just a human then.

Now that he thought about it, though…

“Do you feel that?” he asked the boys.

“What?” Deacy asked.

_ “That,”  _ Freddie said, gesturing around. “There’s- there’s someone with powers here.”

They all eyed each other warily, and he could feel them all reach out.

“It’s weak, but it’s there,” Roger said, narrowing his eyes and looking around. “Where’s it coming from?”

“I don’t know,” Freddie said. He glanced back the crowd. In such a crowded room, it was hard to pinpoint to exact location of the magic source. It was too weak to be sure, but it felt  _ familiar.  _ It brought silk and roses to mind, gold and jewels, perfume, art... _ Beauty. _

_ “Anita?”  _ Brian gasped, nearly dropping the Red Special.

“Couldn’t be,” Deacy said, eyes wide, but then-

“Brian?”

There she was, at the foot of the stage. Anita, Goddess of Beauty, smiling at Brian with tears in her eyes, a gold hairband keeping her curls off her face. “Brian,” she repeated, more certainly.

Brian thrust his guitar at Roger and jumped off the stage, instantly pulling her into his arms. They clung to each other like they were drowning, kissing like they expected to be torn away from each other again. A fair assumption, Freddie had to admit.

There were some cat-calls and wolf-whistles. Deacy looked ready to cry. Freddie could see Mary and Phoebe gaping. Jim and Joe, by the bar, were straining to see what was going on.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Roger said, grinning. There was a faint shimmer to his skin, that he fought to hold back when Freddie nudged him. “Are we going to just keep finding each other by accident?”

“Next time we’ll make an ad,” Freddie said, patting him on the arm. He held onto Deacy’s hand. Their God of Crafts had tears in his eyes, and they weren’t just happy tears.

“We’ll find her,” Freddie promised.

“I know,” Deacy said, but his voice cracked and he quickly looked away.

  
  
  
  
  
  


After that, it was no wonder that Brian gave such an energetic performance. Anita stayed right in the front row, grinning fit to burst, seemingly unable to look away from her husband.

It wasn’t as if Roger could judge. He certainly knew the feeling.

They were all on fire tonight. You’d be forgiven for thinking they put the crowd under a spell: they were energetic and responsive, singing, cheering, clapping and screaming for more.

Roger knew they were brilliant- why pretend otherwise? Modesty had never exactly been his forte. He’d been a Prince, and then a Kind, where was the use in downplaying his skills? So yes, he knew they were brilliant.

He was still shocked when a man in a suit came over to their table at the end of the show.

Another band had taken to the stage, and maybe it was petty of him, but Roger still smirked when he noticed how many people had left, or weren’t paying attention anymore. Anita was sitting on Brian’s lap, eyes wide as they filled her in on everything she’d missed.

“Sorry to interrupt,” a strange voice said, and they looked up to find a man smiling at them; a man in a suit with neatly styled hair. “Who’s in charge here, may I ask?”

Almost simultaneously, everyone pointed to Roger and Freddie. Freddie ducked his head, sticking close to Roger’s side. Roger wrapped an arm around Freddie’s waist, eyeing the man warily.

But the man’s smile widened, and he held out a small business card. “My name’s John Reid,” he said. “I’m a manager in the music industry- and you lads are talented. Very talented. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone work a crowd like that.”

“Thanks,” Roger said, smiling despite himself. He took the card, squinting at it in the dim light of the bar.

“I know a few companies looking for a new signing,” Reid continued. “And I know you lads have CDs ready to go. Don’t suppose you’d be interested?”

Roger looked to his husband and friends. Deacy looked doubtful, like he expected a trick. Truthfully, a part of Roger expected a trick too. Brian’s eyes had lit up more than ever, and Freddie looked as wary as Deacy, but he couldn’t quite mask the gleam of interest in his eyes.

One by one, they smiled at each other in agreement.

“We’d be interested,” Roger said, fighting to sound casual, to keep the excitement from his voice. He stayed lounging in his seat, though his grip on Freddie tightened.

Reid nodded, his smile widening somewhat. “Wonderful,” he said. He took their flat’s number, as well as Roger’s mobile; his own contact details were on the back of the card. He even paid a fiver for one of their CDs, instead of just taking it. Mary looked stunned as she put the money away.

“I’ll be in touch boys,” he promised, and away he went.

Reid left a stunned silence in his wake.

“Did...Did that just happen?” Phoebe asked, staring after Reid with wide eyes.

“It did,” Roger said. Honestly, he was struggling to wrap his head around it. Was it a prank? Was Reid serious? Would he even contact them?

“This is the best night I’ve had in years,” Brian declared, kissing Anita on the cheek. She giggled at him, looking quite content to sit on his lap all night.

Talk about a night full of surprises. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anita's here! Next up, we'll see where she's been, as well as meet Reid again...


	12. Fire In My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old loves and old enemies...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the boys to meet Reid, and a glimpse of how Anita's been doing.

_ “Do you walk in the valley of kings? Do you walk in the shadow of men, who sold their lives to a dream? Do you ponder the manner of things in the dark?” _-Glitter And Gold, Barns Courtney

  
  


Anita liked pretty things. Maybe it was shallow of her, but she’d always admired beauty; she’d always hated to leave the house looking less than perfect. And yet, she could find the beauty in most anything. From a simple walk in the park, to little trinkets and empty perfume bottles, to classical art and jewels, Anita would find something wonderful about it.

Her friends teased her for being a romantic, but what was wrong with that?

And then there was love. Now, even she could admit she had some grand ideals. She believed in soulmates, in all-consuming, truly passionate love, love that would last forever, love that would transcend lifetimes. One of her roommates teased that she’d clearly read _ Romeo And Juliet _one too many times. 

The thing was, for all her daydreams about love, she kept turning down dates. Call her crazy, but she could never shake the feeling that she was waiting for someone, especially at night, especially when the moon was full.

She kept dreaming of a tall, pale man with a wild mane of hair, moonlight shining from his skin, stars in his eyes.

But it was more than that. Anita could have sworn she knew him. That he was real. That somewhere, he was waiting for her. And she was waiting for him.

And then, one night, she popped into the pub on her way home from rehearsal for a quick pick-me-up. And she spotted the tall, pale guitarist on stage.

It hit her like a tonne of bricks. She knew him. She’d know him anywhere. Her husband, her soulmates, the light of her life. Shaking, tears in her eyes, Anita walked to him as if in a dream.

“Brian?”

He turned to her, gaping, as shocked as her, but the second their eyes locked, Anita relaxed with a smile, certainty settling in her chest.

He was hers. She was his.

“Brian.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


As it turned out, Reid _ was _serious. He contacted them only four days later, asking to meet with them. He gave them a time and address, and honestly? John was pretty shocked. He knew they were good- fantastic, even- but the idea that someone actually wanted to manage them was still hard to wrap his head around.

Well, if he could craft miraculous objects and control volcanic eruptions, he could handle this too.

He still fretted about what he should wear. They all did. He worried about his hair, his clothes, even his tendency to slouch. It was ridiculous, he was a _ god, _ he’d fought monsters and all manor of terrors, he’d been in _ wars- _but his chest was still tight with anxiety when they drove to the restaurant. 

It was a bright, sunny day, and a smiling waitress directed them to a table on the veranda. To do Roger credit, he managed to crack a few jokes, but even he looked a shade too pale. John bit his lip, telling himself again and again to not be so daft.

And then Reid approached.

“Good afternoon, boys,” he said, taking the last free seat. “So, I’ve some good news. I played your demo for some friends of mine, and I’ve got an offer. EMI loved it, and I’m hoping some more offers will turn up- but in the meantime, I’ve arranged a meeting with EMI next Wednesday; two o’clock, I’ll meet you there.”

“You’re serious?” Brian gasped. “EMI? But they’re-”

“Huge?” Reid smirked, looking mighty pleased with himself. “It shows what you’re capable of, if you ask me.”

Roger wrapped an arm around Freddie’s shoulders, grinning. Brian still looked stunned, and Freddie’s eyes seemed to sparkle golden for a moment; John just prayed that Reid didn’t spot it.

He was just daring to relax when a tall, broad man in a green bomber jacket approached, and wordlessly handed Reid a cup of tea.

“Ah, thank you, Paul. Boys, this is Paul Prenter. He’ll be looking after you.”

There was the briefest of pauses- charged, electric, _ dangerous. _

In the blink of an eye, dark clouds rolled in, thunder rumbled, and lightning crashed- and every single decorative vase of flowers along the veranda burst into flames.

There were shocked screams as other patrons leaped back from their tables, running from the flames. Even John flinched, though he knew what had caused it. Reid was rushing away, shouting at them to get inside as the rain lashed down- but it didn’t put out the unnatural fires that Freddie created.

And Paul Prenter, that monster, a true demon out of hell, looked at Freddie and _ smiled _as they ran inside.

_ He knows, _ John realised with horror. _ He knows! _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Jesus Christ!” Reid gaped out the window at the sudden storm, and the fires that just wouldn’t go out. “What in the hell is that?”

No one could answer, though they all knew damn well.

The tiled floor cracked under Freddie’s heat, the temperature in the room grew. The storm picked up as Roger pushed Freddie behind him. John dearly wished he had his bow and arrows, just to feel a little safer.

Paul Prenter. Paul _ fucking _Prenter.

“It’s Freddie, right?” he asked, looking Freddie up and down.

“That’s right,” Freddie said coldly. He was far too pale, his hands were shaking, but John could see his hands starting to glow.

Brian quickly grabbed Freddie’s hand, grounding him, moonlight and sunlight together.

The fire brigade arrived quickly, and John could practically feel the conscious effort Freddie made to let the fires die as they left the restaurant. The storm only grew; John winced as some tables and chairs went flying over the balcony’s edge, crashing into the river below.

Reid left quickly, running for his car, shouting that he’d call them to remind them of the meeting with EMI.

Prenter lingered, still staring at Freddie.

And then, in perfect ancient Latin, he spoke; _ “Do you remember me, my treasure?” _

Freddie, always their showman, did an amazing job at looking blank and sweet. “Sorry?” He tilted his head. “What language was that?”

Roger snarled, but Prenter’s smile widened. “Never mind,” he said. He looked slightly wary when Brian edged closer to Freddie- surely he knew who they all were- but...But he didn’t know that _ they _knew...Ah. John saw where Freddie was going now.

As Prenter left, the lightning crashed again, dangerously close.

“I’ll kill him,” Roger hissed. It took John and Brian to drag him into the van. “I’ll fucking kill him, I’ll destroy his soul this time!”

“Not in public you won’t,” Freddie said. In the safety of the van, he started to shake, doubling over himself. His breathing was quick and raspy, but he began to glow with power, his eyes pure gold, his skin hot to the touch. “And this time, _ he’s mine. _”

“Fred?” They all turned to him in surprise, even Roger, but Freddie didn’t even twitch. If anything, he just looked more determined. Even John felt frozen under that furious golden gaze.

  
“I’m not that frightened slave child anymore,” Freddie growled, his voice beginning to faintly echo. _ “He’s. Mine.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll knew they were gonna meet eventually; here comes trouble, and make it creepy.


	13. Into The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go to EMI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for discussion to slavery and sexual abuse.
> 
> Sorry for the long wait, things have been hectic over here. More drama build up this time...

_ “When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” _-Haruki Murakami

  
  
  


That night, Freddie clung to Roger like a lifeline. Fury burned through him, and he couldn’t get his hands to stop glowing, he couldn’t stop the power coursing through his veins- just as Roger couldn’t seem to stop the storm outside.

“I’ll never let him hurt you again,” Roger vowed, cupping Freddie’s face in his hands. The air around him crackled with electricity, with raw power. “I swear, love, he won’t hurt you.”

“He won’t,” Freddie agreed. “Because _ I _ won’t let him.”

Last time, he’d been powerless. He’d been a slave, a mere object in the eyes of the law. No friends or family, no one who would stand up and say that Paul was wrong. No one who cared if Freddie lived or died.

Not now. Now, he was Freddie Bulsara; now, he was a Queen, the Sun God. He was the son of Jer and Bomi Bulsara, brother to Kashmira. He was Roger’s husband, father of his heirs. He was Brian, Deacy, Jim, Mary, Joe and Phoebe’s friend. 

He’d vowed, in his last life, that no one was allowed to hurt him the way Paul and his cronies had, ever again. He’d sworn to himself, as he melted that human lurker’s eyes, that no one was allowed to touch him anymore. That although Roger may protect him, Freddie would learn to fight too, to wield his magic, to control the sun’s rays. No one was ever going to treat him like a toy again.

He vowed it to himself again, magic rising hot in his blood.

_ No one is allowed to hurt me. No one is allowed to touch me. I’m not a slave anymore; I’m free. I’ll always be free. Never again, never again, never again. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ The whip came down and Freddie screamed. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the next strike, but it never came. Instead, there was a flash of light, so bright he could see it even through his closed lids. There was a surge of...of _ power, _ of raw power, and the air suddenly felt too heavy, suffocating. _

_ The whip was flung across the room, and Paul swore, “What the _ fuck-? _ ” before he abruptly broke off with a strangled noise. _

_ Freddie opened his eyes and gasped. Right there, in the centre of the room, was a glowing man; startlingly handsome, with long blond hair and big blue eyes. He wore a winged helmet, battle armour; there was a sword in his hand, and a golden whip attached to his belt. _

_ Freddie knew him. He saw his statue in the temple all the time, he’d seen him in mosaics, on pottery and in paintings. _

“Roger?”_ Freddie flinched back, hastily covering himself. He wasn’t sure if he was more awed or terrified. He’d prayed for Roger’s help for months and months without stopping, and there’d been no answer. So why now? Why now, when Freddie had stopped praying at all? _

_ Roger looked at him and smiled, surprisingly kind and sad. “Sorry I took so long,” he said, confirming in Freddie’s mind that the god had listened to him after all, for all those months. _So why now?

_ He wanted to ask, but his voice had deserted him. He didn’t get a chance to really make sense of it all anyway: Roger turned to Paul and pounced, driving his sword into the slave master’s chest. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


It was tense as they left for EMI. Their friends insisted on waiting in a nearby cafe for them, prepared to come and destroy Paul themselves, as soon as possible.

But Freddie had to wonder...Paul _ remembered. _ How? Why? And how was he even _ here? _ He should have been locked in the Underworld.

“Ryu had to have sent him,” Deacy had said flatly the night before, even as he paced, bristling with rage. “They’re looking for us.”

“Our magic erupting can’t have helped,” Roger had acknowledged with a sigh. He’d pulled Freddie onto his lap, and wouldn’t let him up. Shadows grew around Mary, and she hissed under her breath in ancient Latin.

Freddie quite understood her anger. After all, the Underworld was her domain, her kingdom as it were. And their enemies had defiled it, had released a man she truly hated. More than likely, they’d done it to scare them, to lure them out. To send a message.

Well then. They’d just have to send a message of their own.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He told himself to be brave, but that didn’t stop him from feeling sick at the sight of Paul, waiting by the gates to EMI with Reid. Freddie clung to Roger’s hand, holding his head high, summoning his old royal grace like a shield. He walked like a Queen, he walked the way he used to in their court, when everyone would bow as he passed.

“Good to see you, boys,” Reid said with a smile. He gestured for them to follow him, and Freddie steadfastly ignored Paul.

But _ Paul _ didn’t ignore _ him. _

“You look lovely today, Freddie,” he said quietly, looking Freddie up and down with a smile. Freddie, who’d always made a statement through his clothes, turned his nose in the air with a frown. He knew he looked good, that was the _ point. _ It was his own sort of armour. He wore his black lace shirt and his best black skinny jeans; he’d even painted his nails red, and he’d spent so long on his eyeliner and hair that Joe had pounded on the bathroom door impatiently.

A part of him wished he had one of his tiaras.

Freddie didn’t answer Paul, and Roger let go of his hand, only to wrap an arm around Freddie’s waist. Deacy tapped his arrow pendant, scowling. Brian was as cold as ice.

If Reid noticed anything unusual, he didn’t comment. He led them past reception, and they took the lift to the fourth floor. 

“Who are we meeting with?” Brian asked as they walked down the hall. Reid smiled in amusement, and tapped his nose conspiratively. 

“Ah, just you wait and see, lad.”

They stopped at the sixth door; a little gold plaque said _ Foster. _

Freddie’s blood ran cold, and he heard Deacy’s breathing hitch, he saw Paul do a double-take. No. No, surely not…

But it was.

“Boys, this is Ray Foster. Ray, meet _ Queen: _Roger Taylor, Brian May, John Deacon, and Freddie Bul- Bulser...Ah, sorry Fred, how do you pronounce it?”

“Bulsara,” Freddie said hoarsely. He stared at Foster in disgust, looking for a sign that the man knew him. There was nothing. Foster just looked faintly bored and grumpy, the way he always had thousands of years ago.

“Bulsara?” he repeated flatly, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Mercury,” Brian jumped in quickly. “His stage name’s Freddie Mercury.”

“Hm...Well, it’s better than Bul-whatsit. Have a seat, boys.”

Even Paul looked stumped. That was hardly a comfort.

Freddie couldn’t stand it. First Paul, now Foster. What was next? Had Ryu resurrected everyone who’d hurt him? He looked at Foster, and he could remember the man beating his wife in full view of everyone, knowing no one would stop him. He remembered Foster attending Paul’s banquets, and casually raping slave women, before patting them on the ass and telling them to get back to work.

He remembered Foster at the banquet held in Sheffield’s honour, forcing his cock down Freddie’s throat, and telling his wife _ to take notes, _ to see how it should be done.

There was thunder in the distance, and Freddie clung to Roger’s hand to anchor himself, to anchor his husband.

He barely took in a word that was said. He let Brian do the talking; he was certain that if he tried to speak more than necessary, he’d throw up, or his magic would lash out, and he’d burn the whole room to ashes.

There was a knock on the door, and another familiar voice spoke up; “Ah, Ray. Is this the group you mentioned?”

Freddie squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his grip slipping. The temperature in the room rose. Outside, there was a flash of lightning, though the sky remained clear. No rain, or clouds, but the lightning continued as Roger swore under his breath.

One thing was for sure, Mary would be furious about this.

“It is,” Foster said. He reached for his pen, and hissed in shock when it burned him. “What the-?”

“Ray?” Norman Sheffield frowned.

“...Nothing,” Foster said, looking highly baffled, and maybe a little alarmed. Freddie wondered if anyone else saw the scorch mark on his desk.

Sheffield finally looked at them, and his frown deepened. “I- pardon me, boys, but have we met?”

“No,” Deacy said, looking him square in the eye. “We haven’t.”

“No, I don’t suppose we have,” Sheffield said slowly. “But goodness, you all look familiar.” He shook himself. “Anyway, how’s the discussion going, Ray?”

“It’s going,” Foster snorted. He held a contract out to Brian. Brian took it, taking care to not let Foster’s hand touch his.

Paul just looked more and more surprised by the sight of his old friends, let alone to realise that they didn’t know.

But Freddie wouldn’t doubt that they would know soon, if King Ryu had his way.

It wasn’t just Paul then. It was the people who had frightened Freddie the most. Paul, who had abused and humiliated him daily. Sheffield, who, during their brief time knowing each other, never hesitated to order Freddie to take his clothes off. Even if he didn’t touch him (he wouldn’t, without Paul’s permission), he’d been all too happy to order slaves to serve him nude. Foster, who had always hurt Freddie to hurt his own wife further. To embarrass them both.

The three people who, in turn, were most likely to make Roger erupt in rage, and not think things through.

He wondered, dimly, and ill with horror, if Henry Fitzherbert, Ross Jenkins, and all the others were alive too.

Freddie wondered, suddenly, if Michael Taylor wasn’t alive by accident after all.

“You’ll need time to think,” Reid said. “So take the contract home, and we’ll meet here tomorrow, okay?”

They all nodded and gave their thanks. Freddie clung to Roger; Brian led the way out, and Deacy brought up the rear, all three of them surrounding Freddie, forming a protective barrier.

  
As the door closed, he heard Sheffield speak; “I _ swear _ I’ve met them before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's any consolation, their days are numbered.


	14. With Fire And Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is a dish best served hot...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, some just-desserts.

_ “Turn your ear to the sky; you're not safe here anymore, this is the sound of war. Just when you think there's a settled score, the battle has been reborn…” _-The Sound of War, Tommee Profitt and Fleurie 

  
  
  


Roger couldn’t turn his brain off. Three people he utterly despised were alive, freely roaming the earth. Three men he’d once happily killed were alive and well. Two of them were even living in luxury, and it made his skin crawl.

Mary hadn’t been happy to learn about it.

“Who do they think they are!?” she shrieked, shadows lashing out around her. “How _ dare _ they, I-” She grit her teeth, the shadows darkening further. Her eyes glowed blood red. _ “I’ll kill them,” _ she hissed.

Roger quite understood the feeling.

“I know Michael doesn’t remember anything,” Freddie said, looking out the window. “I know you said he doesn’t even seem to have powers anymore, but...Darling, are you sure he’s just back by accident?”

Roger wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He’d always thought that Michael came back by accident, a side-effect of Roger’s spell. But now? Knowing three men he’d once damned were free? He couldn’t be certain. After all, he’d killed Michael with Brian and Deacy; they’d torn his soul to pieces, scattering them into oblivion...But he was here all the same.

He felt like he was being watched.

Freddie abruptly closed the curtains, eyes dark and furious.

“They need to go,” he said quietly. 

Well, they were gods. It would be all too easy to simply make Prenter, Sheffield and Foster vanish. Besides, it was obvious that Prenter remembered everything. If he was working with Ryu, as Brian theorised, then he had to have told Ryu they were with him at EMI by now.

_ Bring it on, _ Roger thought, lightning sparking at his fingertips. He glanced towards the closed curtains, and scowled. _ I’m right here, Ryu, and I’ll be all too glad to destroy you. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


John sneaked back to EMI that night. The God of Crafts, born of a volcano, it was simple to sneak past security, to figure out where every camera and blindspot was. It was easy to trace the wires, to figure out how to disable every camera with a flick of his wrist. All he’d have to do was focus, pin down the power source, and mess with the wiring, dismantle the signal. 

It would be easy, he knew, to keep those cameras off for as long as necessary.

Not that it would take Freddie long to kill Prenter.

Still, he supposed they’d better take out Sheffield and Foster too, to be safe. They couldn’t risk them getting their memories back.

Smiling to himself, John slipped past the guards and made his way home.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Freddie wore his old royal colours; yellow, red and orange. Vibrant, beautiful and strong. His gold bangles clicked together, his eyeliner was winged, his eyeshadow a simmering gold; his nails had a fresh coat of red paint. He walked with his head held high, eyes narrowed, every inch a Queen, every inch a piece of the sun come to life.

Next to him, Roger had tied his hair back in a tight braid, the way he used to for battle. His clothing was blue and stormy grey, and he wore the sturdiest pair of black leather boots he owned. The very air around him seemed to crackled with electricity. He looked like the soldier and commander he used to be, the King he was born to be.

Brian looked like a moonbeam. His hair fell in a wild mess of curls, but his clothing was silver and white, all soft flowing fabric and white-gold jewellery. At first glance, he appeared harmless. At second glance, there was a burning, furious hatred in his eyes.

Deacy, like Roger, had braided his hair back off his face, kept in place with iron-grey hair clips. He kept his jacket zipped down, showing off his arrow pendant, and wore his favourite leather bracelets; his shirt was a deep blood red, but everything else was black.

Anyone from their old court would have dropped to their knees in reverence to see them.

The second they entered EMI’s reception, Freddie took a deep breath and plastered a sweet little smile on his face. It was a sudden shift in demeanour; he seemed docile, shy. He held Roger’s hand and lowered his eyes, suddenly the anxious little art student everyone else knew.

Oh if Tim could see this, he’d barely recognise them…

They reached Foster’s office, and Freddie’s grip on Roger tightened as they stepped inside.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The scorch mark was still on Foster’s desk. Brian had to bite back a sudden fit of laughter at the sight. Foster still looked grumpy, dressed in a bright Hawaiin shirt. Prenter lounged against the wall, eyes glued to Freddie. Reid made small talk with Deacy. There was no sign of Sheffield. Likely in his own office.

They signed the contract, but before Foster could say anything, Freddie spoke up, keeping his voice quiet and sweet; “Excuse me, but could I ask where the bathroom is?”

“Hm?” Foster glanced at him. “Down the hall and around the corner on your left.”

“Thank you.” Freddie stood up and left, shooting them a quick glance. His eyes flashed gold, but when he looked at Prenter he gave the man his sweetest, shyest smile.

Sure enough, Prenter only waited a few seconds before muttering his excuses and following Freddie.

Deacy stretched out next to him, smiling. There was a small _ frisson _in the air, Deacy’s powers reaching out- and Brian knew that every single camera in EMI to shut down.

  
  
  
  
  
  


By the time Paul caught up with him, Freddie made a show of pacing the bathroom, biting his lip and wringing his hands.

“Are you okay?” Paul asked.

“Just- just feeling a little anxious,” Freddie said with a shaky giggle, glancing away, and imagining Paul’s blood splashing across the white tiles.

“Maybe some fresh air will do you good?” Paul smiled at him and beckoned for Freddie to follow him. “Beats standing around in here.”

Trying not to smile, Freddie followed him. Paul kept shooting glances at him as they made their way to the lift, his smile slowly growing. At one point, he reached out to brush his hand against Freddie’s hip, and Freddie flinched back.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly, peering up at Paul through his hair.

“Sorry,” Paul said, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s just...You’re beautiful, Freddie.”

“Oh.” Freddie made sure to let his eyes widen, quickly looking away again. “Thank you, but I have a boyfriend.” _ I have a husband. I have three children. And I’ll never let you hurt me again. _

“I know,” Paul said, and he genuinely sounded sad about it. They finally reached the ground floor, and Freddie brushed past Paul, quickly heading towards the side door.

“I’ll be fine by myself,” he said.

“Freddie, wait.” Paul hurried after him, and slammed the door behind them. They stood in the back car-park, quite near the bins. The wind picked up, though the day stayed warm.

Freddie faced Paul, his fists clenched, and Paul stepped forward.

_ “Do you remember me?” _Paul asked in ancient Latin, and this time Freddie let himself grin.

_ “Yes,” _he said. Paul seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he pressed his lips together.

_ “I forgive you,” _ Paul said. _ “For praying for my death. I can forgive you. You were frightened. But, my treasure, you belong to me, not Roger. He doesn’t love you-” _

_ “Neither do you.” _ Freddie’s eyes narrowed. _ “Do not presume to lecture me, Paul Prenter.” _

Paul shook his head. He aimed his hand at Freddie, and it began to glow with an emerald green light. “Ryu won’t hurt you if you just hear him out,” Paul said, switching back to English. “Don’t be so foolish, and do as you’re told. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, darling,” Freddie sighed softly. “That’s a blatant lie. You always wanted to hurt me.” He let his magic burst from him; he began to glow all over, the day grew hotter and hotter, sweltering in seconds, the ground cracked under his feet, and with one thrust of his fist, Freddie tossed Paul halfway down the carpark, calmly striding after him.

“How stupid do you think I am?” he demanded. Paul struggled to his feet, his head bleeding, but light surrounded him and lifted him into the air. _ “I’m not yours,” _ Freddie said. “I never was. I never _ will _ be. I belong to myself before I belong to anyone else, even Roger.” His eyes narrowed, his magic burned hot in his veins, and Freddie could almost feel his crown on his head. “Let Ryu take this for the warning it is.”

Paul didn’t even get a chance to scream. 

Freddie clenched his fists and the light completely surrounded Paul, glowing brighter and brighter, blindingly bright. It would have blinded any humans, but Freddie didn’t look away. 

There was a _ boom, _and the light vanished. Ashes slowly fell to the ground, and among them was a glowing blue orb. Paul’s soul.

Freddie plucked it from the air, no longer glowing. Just a small boy in bright clothing. So much more than he appeared.

_ “Mary!” _ he called, and his friend casually walked out of the shadows. She took one look at the ashes and _ beamed. _

“You’re thorough, sweetie,” she said approvingly. She blew on the ashes, giggling as they scattered. She looked at the soul in Freddie’s hands with a gleam of hunger in her pretty blue eyes. “Is that for me?” she asked, as she once did thousands of years ago.

“Yes,” Freddie said, and held it out to her. “Destroy him, darling.”

She took the soul into her delicate hands, and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, and _ squeezed. _ The soul crumbled in her hands, slowly melting away to nothing. Going, going, _ gone. _

“Ryu will notice he’s gone soon enough,” Mary said.

“I should hope so,” Freddie said coldly. Mary smiled at him, quite sadly, and squeezed his hand. Freddie turned back to EMI.

“I’ll see you later, darling.”

“Say the word, and I’ll be ready,” she said. “We can get rid of Sheffield and Foster tonight.”

Freddie smiled as he opened the door. “Gladly.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


The Queen of the Gods, the Queen of the Underworld, turned to her husband.

“Where’s your pet human?” she asked impatiently. “He should have been here ten minutes ago.”

“Humans,” Ryu sighed. “Always tardy.” He frowned as he tapped his foot against the ground. These human pubs were always so _ dirty, _ he’d never understood the appeal, but they’d agreed to meet here. There’d been a burst of magic that afternoon, a burst of _ sun _magic. It had to be Freddie, but Prenter had been insistent that Freddie didn’t remember a thing.

Regardless if the brat remembered or not, he’d be the perfect bait to lure Roger out. Ryu wasn’t going to let them all slip through his fingers again.

All the same, he kept frowning at the door, before he turned to his wife. “You may be right, Isabelle,” he said. “Humans are truly useless.”

Queen Isabelle scoffed, sipping her wine. “At least their food is decent,” she said airly. She winked at the barman: the poor mortal flushed bright red, stumbling over his own feet as he passed.

Fifteen minutes, twenty, and still no sign of Prenter. Scowling, Ryu took his wife by the hand, and led her outside. Once in a quiet alleyway, they teleported to Prenter’s apartment.

No sign of the man. 

_ Useless son of a bitch. Where are you? _

  
  
  
  
  
  


(It didn’t occur to him what may have happened until the next morning, when word of two mysterious deaths and one disappearance reached him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bye, Paul 😏


	15. Lightning Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul may be gone, but there's two more monsters for Roger to take care of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: murder, mention of rape and abuse, some gore
> 
> Roger's not best pleased.

_“__I swear to you that those who would harm you will die screaming.” _-George R.R Martin

  
  
  


Freddie walked back into Foster’s office with a little smile. He caught his boys’ gazes and gave the tiniest of nods as he sat.

Deacy clenched his fist, relaxing in his seat. No doubt, all the security cameras would now be back up and running.

Soon enough, Freddie knew, Reid would go and search for Paul, but he wouldn’t find anything. He could try to call him, but his phone had been destroyed with him. His car would still be in the car park, but that was about it.

He was gone, he was gone, he was gone gone _ gone! _Freddie felt dangerously close to laughing. Smiling, he rested his head on Roger’s shoulder, and his husband wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him close.

Foster was talking, but Freddie didn’t listen to a word. He kept his calm gaze trained on the man, and knew for a certainty that Foster would be dead by tomorrow.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Freddie didn’t go after Foster or Sheffield. He stayed at home with Phoebe and Joe, cuddling Luna and resting. 

But the others? They went after them.

Mary, of course, would lie in wait until it was done, and then destroy their souls. 

Roger and Brian went after Foster. Jim and Deacy went after Sheffield.

Brian and Roger sat in Roger’s car, warily watching Foster’s house. They’d gotten a glimpse of his wife, a petite woman they didn’t recognise. Julie, Foster had called her. There was a child in there, they knew that, and a maid. They had two options: go in there and get rid of Foster before he could even scream (easily enough if they used their powers), or wait for Foster to leave.

By a stroke of luck, Foster came back out of the house around nine o’clock. His wife lingered in the doorway, and Brian knew he wasn’t imagining how she flinched when Foster kissed her. Foster patted her cheek, saying something, and she cringed away from him.

They waited until Foster was half-way down the road in his own car before going after him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Roger could have laughed when Foster pulled up in front of Sheffield’s house. Heavens above, this would be too easy!

_ They deserve it, _he reminded himself firmly. He thought of all the people they’d hurt before, he thought of Foster and Sheffield’s old families, he thought of Freddie, and the thought of his husband was enough to cause a lightning strike.

“Easy, Rog,” Brian murmured. Ahead of them, Deacy and Jim hopped out of their car.

“Cameras are all down,” Deacy said as soon as Brian and Roger stepped out. “It’s getting easier and easier- I was able to disable them from down the street.”

“Good,” Roger said, eyeing Sheffield’s house with pure hatred. Slowly, he started to smirk. “Think you can cause a power outage?”

Deacy smiled at him: without a word being spoken, all of Sheffield’s lights went out.

“Let’s go,” Roger said, standing tall. One touch of his hand, and the lock on the gate melted away, dripping to the ground and sizzling on the concrete. He flung the gate open and marched into the garden. He wished he had his spear, or his whip. But he felt like a commander again.

His friends followed silently behind.

From there, it was easy.

The bastards didn’t even see it coming.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Maybe, in another world, they would have left Sheffield and Foster alone. Maybe they would have told themselves that, although these men had been monsters before, they weren’t now. They didn’t know what they once did. They were innocent.

But Prenter had remembered, Prenter had mentioned King Ryu to Freddie, and they weren’t stupid enough to imagine that Ryu wouldn’t eventually try and use the two executives as well.

Sheffield was huffing over the lack of power, holding a flashlight when the boys appeared in a flash. Sheffield shouted, Foster swore, but Jim summoned water and pinned them to the wall, freezing the water in seconds.

“Hey,” Roger said with a grin.

“What the _ fuck? _” Foster shouted, tugging in vain against his restraints. “Taylor-?” His eyes widened as he realised Brian and Deacy were there too, as he took in Jim’s presence. 

“What the hell_ are _ you?” Sheffield demanded. Well, he’d always been smart; at least he didn’t bother begging.

“You wouldn’t remember me,” Roger said, walking towards them. “But I’m Roger. King of the Gods, God of War, God of Thunder and Lightning.” His fists crackled with electricity. “You raped my husband.”

“You’re mad,” Foster said hoarsely. 

“Oh, you did too,” Roger said, turning to him. “You used to beat your wife in public; you raped her too. So did your little _ friends. _Not Julie, no, this was a different woman. Lydia. You wouldn’t remember her either.” Roger held his hand out, and Foster shrank away from the lightning encasing his fist. Roger’s smile widened.

“Brian,” he said slowly. “Help them remember, won’t you?” His eyes narrowed. “And check what they’ve done this time.”

Brian stepped forward and placed both hands against Sheffield’s temples. His eyes flashed silver and Sheffield stiffened as a lifetime of memories came flooding back. He was panting for breath when Brian stepped back, and the Moon God looked utterly disgusted.

“You were right, Rog,” he said, voice a growl. “He’s still a rapist. He took his children from his ex-wife; had her declared unfit after she spoke up.”

“Are the kids here?” Roger checked.

“No.” It was Sheffield himself who answered. “They’re with my parents.”

“Good,” Roger said. The lightning grew, and Sheffield looked truly terrified. Brian stepped past him to Foster and repeated the process. 

“Same again,” Brian snarled. “Frankly, you don’t want to know how he treats Julie and those kids.”

“They’re-”

“They’re people,” Jim cut across Foster. “Not your property. Thousands of years and you haven’t changed a bit.”

“I killed you once,” Roger said. “I’m sure you remember that now. See, I’m not supid enough to think you’re not threats. I’m not stupid enough to think King Ryu will forget you entirely. If he realises you’re here, he’ll come for you. And frankly…” He raised his fists, aiming the lightning at them both. “I’d happily kill you a thousand times. _ You hurt Freddie. _”

He didn’t give them a chance to speak again. He let the lightning loose, and they screamed as it sailed towards them. It hit them both straight in the chests, and Jim flinched back when it hit them. Brian threw up a shield of pure moonlight, protecting them all from the blood, from the stray lightning, from the sheer gore of it all.

There wasn’t much left. A puddle of water from the ice; blood, scorch marks, chunks of flesh. Two souls, floating in the air. He reached out and grabbed them.

Honestly, it smelled disgusting, and Roger’s nose wrinkled. He’d seen worse, been through worse, survived worse, but it was all new again. His memories said it was old news: his body said it was entirely new, and disgusting. 

“Christ,” Jim breathed. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, Rog.”

Roger was still faintly glowing as he stepped back, glaring at what little remained of Foster and Sheffield.

_ Come and get it, Ryu. _

He turned to his friends. “Mary,” he called, and she walked out of the shadows in her pink summer dress, her nails painted black. She frowned at the scene, and turned to Roger, hands on her hips.

“Must you always be so messy?” she chided, but she smiled when he held the souls out. She took one in each hand and closed her eyes to concentrate. As they watched, the souls wavered and began to melt; the drops vanished before they could hit the floor.

Just like that, there was nothing left. 

Three down. Plenty of gods to go.

“Let’s get out of here,” Roger ordered. Mary vanished back into the shadows, and the boys left the house as easily as they got in. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


The headlines the next evening had a field day. Reid had gone to Sheffield’s house to look for him; Julie Foster had tried to report Foster missing that morning, but as he was an adult, she was told he had to be gone for twenty-four hours before they’d do anything.

But then Reid found the destruction that Roger had left behind. Roger at least felt bad about that; Reid seemed pompous, but otherwise harmless. He didn’t deserve to walk in on _ that. _

Paul’s disappearance was reported with Sheffield and Foster’s demises. Police were utterly baffled. 

“I don’t think we’ll be hiding for much longer,” Brian said, sitting on the windowsill.

“Probably not,” Roger acknowledged, setting the paper aside. “We’d really better start training now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm off to London tomorrow morning and won't be back until Thursday, so there won't be any updates until at least Thursday/Friday. I'll see you then! ✨


	16. At The Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A King sits on his throne and reminisces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was struggling with this for AGES, holy shit, but I'm finally happy with it! Surprise, here's a look into Ryu's mind.

_ “Just one word, I'll let the world burn. I'm gonna build me an empire, and it's lonely at the top; but madness and greatness can both share a face, and nobody will ever convince me to stop.” _\- Empire, Beth Crowley

  
  
  


Ryu was born of a great cosmic explosion, along with his fellows, his family; his brothers and sisters, his friends, and his Isabelle, the woman he would soon marry.

He was the God of Fire, the strongest of the “new gods” as the mortals at the time had dubbed them, the obvious choice for King. He’d never been the type to let anyone stand in his way, right from his first breath.

It had been obvious to him, and the others, that the time had come for the old gods to stand down. What good were they anymore? Didn’t they understand how things worked? You may be on top, but if you let your guard down then sooner or later, someone younger and stronger would come along and knock you down.

All things considered, surely Roger should have seen that coming? Should have understood?

Admittedly Ryu had wondered, at first, if they could be allies. War was so unnecessary, such a damnable _ waste. _

That thought hadn’t lasted long. Ryu had given them the chance to stand down, and they didn’t take it.

Any hope for things going smoothly, or peacefully, died with Prince Heydar. Ryu had _ told _Celio to not kill him, to take the Prince hostage- everyone knew that Roger doted on his husband and children. It was the perfect way to arrange a cease-fire, to get their way so much faster.

But Heydar had been quicker and faster than they gave him credit for, and Celio, Ryu’s own little brother, defied his orders and killed the Prince.

_ “Killing him was easier than taking him hostage,” _Celio had snarled, coated in Heydar’s blood, in his own blood, missing an eye and the tip of an ear. Their God of War had been a horrible mess, the sight of him making Ryu’s nose wrinkle in distaste.

War. Such a waste of time and resources. 

Ryu would still go to war if he had to. He’d done it before, time and time again.

Roger and the others were out there somewhere. They were close by, and Prenter was missing, useless mortal that he was, and there’d been a burst of sun magic the day he vanished. It had to have been Freddie.

Now _ there _was a perfect path to forcing Roger into a corner. How many legends revolved around their relationship? How many people and creatures alike had Roger torn to shreds for harming his husband? And yet how many times had Roger been forced to stand down, even momentarily, because Freddie was in immediate danger?

You had to love when your enemy had such obvious weaknesses.

Distantly, Ryu wondered if they remembered. Was that burst of magic on purpose, or by accident? There’d been that unnatural storm too, but Prenter had been certain that Roger, Freddie, Brian and John didn’t remember anything. But what did he know? He was missing.

Isabella couldn’t sense Prenter’s soul anywhere, and that much, at least, was a cause for concern (if it could truly be called concern). 

_ Mary, _it had to be Mary, Ryu was certain of it.

If so, that meant that Mary remembered.

He wondered if they remembered losing their palace, the heavens themselves to Ryu and his family.

He wondered if they remembered losing Prince Heydar.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Ryu had never felt such rage as the day they lost the old gods. They had been moments too late to stop Roger from performing that damnable spell, and he remembered his own roar of rage, he remembered the blinding light, the walls trembling; he remembered hearing Prince Roshan scream as they burst in, he remembered Brian looking him right in the eye and snarling as he held Anita to his chest.

He remembered the light flinging him and the others backwards, a deafening thunder clap...And when he could finally look again, the old gods were gone. Freddie’s tiara lay on the ground, so did John’s bow and arrows; Mary’s flower crown rapidly withered and died, and Roger’s spear was on the floor by the throne, but that was it. There were no other traces of them.

It was like they’d never been there at all.

But he could still _ sense _them there, in the back of his mind, a niggling and tingling sensation that never quite went away, no matter what Ryu did, or who he was with.

All the same, Ryu had ignored the sudden silence and tense atmosphere- he’d be lying, they’d all be lying, if they said they didn’t suspect a trap- and walked calmly towards Roger’s throne. Smiling, he’d sat.

“Isabelle, my love,” he called out, extending his hand and Isabella had joined him, taking her place on the Queen’s throne, daintily crossing her legs, grinning viciously.

“What cowards,” Celio said, spitting on the floor.

“They knew they couldn’t beat us,” Vanessa said, her head held high. Ryu had smiled at her, his favourite child and Isabella shook her head fondly at their daughter. 

Their son on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably, though he dutifully lowered his eyes when Ryu frowned at him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Thousands of years later, and the world had changed drastically. Oh, make no mistake, the creatures were still there; the Nymphs, Minotaurs, Giants, Sirens and other beasts, but they were hiding. Magic was at an all time low. The majority of mortals thought it a mere fantasy, child’s play.

Well, mortals had always been foolish. After all, look how easy it had been to warp their old legends, to make them lose faith in their old gods and step in to take their place.

Look how foolish Prenter had been, truly believing that Ryu would just _ hand _him Queen Freddie, as if he’d let some sleazy mortal have such a great asset, as if Prenter still had the power to keep that boy in line.

He was willing to bet that Freddie was responsible for Prenter’s disappearance, but those two deaths? Roger. It had to be. Volatile, impulsive man that he was. It had to be him.

Ray Foster and Norman Sheffield. He didn’t know those names, but Isabelle did. Throughout the years, she’d released thousands of people from the Underworld, delighting in the chaos they usually created in their new lives. Souls didn’t change, and humans always repeated old mistakes.

“They were members of the Senate,” Isabelle said, frowning at their pictures in the human newspaper. Diamonds glittered in her hair. “Roger killed them.”

“Oh?” Ryu wasn’t surprised. “Whatever for?”

“What do you _ think, _ love? They raped Freddie when he was a human.”

Ryu was surprised to feel a stab of approval for Roger. If anyone had done such a thing to Isabelle, he would have destroyed them, no matter the cost.

And oh, this time it would cost Roger dearly.

EMI. Norman was the CEO, Ray was one of the executives. In a position of power again, but a much smaller one this time.

Well then. It was a place to start.

Ryu smiled and, for the first time in years, he turned to his guards and said, “Find me my son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be back with our boys next time, but for now, thanks for reading! 💕


	17. Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interview with the police, and an interview with an executive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not very action-packed this time, but we're moving forward

_ _

_ “I've tasted blood and it is sweet, I've had the rug pulled beneath my feet. I've trusted lies and trusted men, broke down and put myself back together again.”  _ -Nightmare, Halsey

  
  
  


Well, of course the police interviewed them in regards to Paul. After all, Reid and the receptionist had seen Prenter follow Freddie.

The officers met with them in Reid’s office. They’d come in, frowning, admittedly intimidating, but they soon softened when Freddie began to speak. Only nineteen-years-old, dainty, with shy eyes and a soft voice, looking at them so earnestly. Of course they melted.

_ Typical,  _ Roger thought fondly. 

“We’ll need to talk to you individually,” the older office said. He introduced himself as Thomas, and his partner as David. “Freddie, could we speak to you first, son?”

Roger had to hand it to his husband, he was ace at looking innocent. He looked up at the officers through his eyelashes, with a faint little pout, and nodded. David already looked enchanted, and Thomas softened, suddenly looking downright parental.

Roger kissed Freddie’s cheek as he left, squeezing his hand. Freddie squeezed back, smiling at him.

And then the door to Reid’s office closed, leaving Roger, Brian and Deacy to wait in the hall. If nothing else, at least Reid got to stay with Freddie.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Now, Freddie, we understand you were one of the last people to see Paul Prenter,” Thomas said. “Is that right?”

“Yes, sir,” Freddie said, nodding. “I was...I was having a bit of a panic attack, and Paul came after me.”

“Oh?”

Freddie nodded again. “We’d just signed our contact, and I was freaking out. I went to the bathroom and realised I’d left my tablets at home.” He gave a shaky laugh. “Pretty stupid of me. But Paul came in and asked if I was okay. I told him I didn’t feel well, so he suggested we go outside. He said some fresh air might help.” Freddie frowned, biting his lip. “It usually does, so I went with him.” He ducked his head, making a show of shrinking back. “But…”

“Take your time, son,” Thomas said, as David rapidly wrote down what Freddie was saying, and their little recorder picked up on every word. Reid frowned in concern, twirling a pen between his fingers.

“He- he got weird when we got into the lift,” Freddie said quietly, letting his voice waver.

“Weird how?” David asked, a little sharply.

Freddie shifted in his seat, shooting them what he hoped was a frightened-looking glance. Reid nodded encouragingly, David softened further and Thomas leaned forward.

“It’s alright, lad,” he said. “We just need to know what happened.”

“He kept asking questions about Roger,” Freddie lied. “How long we’ve been together, that sort of thing. He didn’t seem to like any of my answers…” He twirled a strand of hair between his fingers, biting at his lip again. “He told me he liked me. A lot. He said he’d be better for me than Roger, and-” He broke off with a shudder.

“Give the kid a break,” he heard Reid mutter. The officers ignored him, but they looked sympathetic.

“What happened, Freddie?”

“He kept trying to touch me,” Freddie all but whispered. He had to bite back a grin when Reid, Thomas and David all looked disgusted, furious on his behalf. Reid sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“As soon as the lift opened I ran past him,” Freddie said, making his voice waver again. “But he followed me outside. He just kept talking about how I’d do better with him than with Roggie. He kept saying I’m beautiful, that he loved me, that I belonged with him...I told him if he didn’t leave me alone, I’d scream. I told him I’d run back inside to the receptionist and get security.” He looked them all in the eye. “I told him I wasn’t interested, that he was scaring me.”

“And then what happened, son?”

“He got angry with me. He started yelling that I was a slut, that I was leading him on. He called me a liar.” Freddie frowned, looking at his lap and back to Thomas. “He said I’d regret turning him down, and he left. I thought he’d stormed off to calm down, but he wasn’t in Foster’s office when I came back.” He sighed, hoping he was managing to look embarrassed. “I have to admit, I didn’t question it too much. I was happy I didn’t have to talk to him yet.”

“And you didn’t see or hear from him after that?” David asked.

“No, sir.” Freddie looked between David and Thomas, eyes wide. “Do you- do you really think he’s hurt?”

“No, no,” Thomas said soothingly, a clear lie. “But we have to look at all the angles. Do you know if he fought with anyone else, Freddie? If he had any enemies?”

_ Oh, just myself, my husband and my court. Why ever do you ask? _

“No,” Freddie said apologetically. “I’d only just met him.”

“There were a few lads at his local pub he didn’t get on with,” Reid put in. “But that’s about it.”

Thomas nodded, and turned back to Freddie. “And the last time you saw Mr Foster and Mr Sheffield?”

“When we left their office,” Freddie said.

“And what did you do when you left?”

“I still wasn’t feeling well, so we celebrated the signing at home instead.”

They looked like they believed him. When he shyly smiled, David went pink, and Thomas looked at him in a way that brought Bomi to mind.

“Thank you for your time, Freddie. Could you call Roger in now?”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Safe to say the contract was null and void, what with Foster being dead. And with their CEO dead, EMI was in chaos. Roger admittedly felt bad for the innocent people working there, but he wasn’t sorry that he’d done it.

He wondered if that would be the end of their endeavors as a band, but Lightning Records contacted Reid with an offer. Roger had to admit he was surprised. Even if no one thought they had anything to do with it, Foster and Sheffield were dead, and Prenter was ‘missing.’ Not exactly inspiring.

But it seemed that one Horace Leroy wanted to meet with them.

“First things first,” Reid said, looking like he’d aged a decade in less than a week. “I’m getting you boys a lawyer.”

Roger couldn’t say he blamed him.

It was surprisingly easy; Reid, of course, already knew plenty of lawyers.

“I think I know the right one for you,” he said, and introduced them to their new lawyer, Mr Jim Beach, in his own office.

They arrived before Beach did. Freddie had his head resting on Roger’s shoulder, Brian idly looked out the window, and Deacy tapped at the arm of the sofa.

Right on time, at two in the afternoon, Beach arrived. He was somewhere in his early thirties, if Roger had to guess, with neatly styled brown hair, wearing a suit with a red tie, his shoes polished to perfection. His smile was shy, even awkward, and when he nodded in acknowledgement it was slightly jerky, as if they intimidated him.

Maybe they did. Four much younger guys, planning to be rockstars, four guys who had just been quizzed by the police? Roger wouldn’t blame him if he was nervous. Maybe he expected them to be assholes, to snap commands, or be haughty and ignore him.

But he seemed alright. Awkward, but alright.

“So, you’ve a meeting with Lightning tomorrow?” Beach asked them.

“We have,” Roger said, rubbing his hand lightly up and down Freddie’s arm. His husband was still resting against his shoulder, his legs crossed, looking at Beach with a pout. Brian tilted his head, studying him the way other scientists would study something under a microscope. Deacy slowly looked Beach up and down, eyebrows raised.

Reid did most of the talking. Beach nodded along, listening intently, sometimes offering a comment of his own, but for the most part he seemed content to listen.

The meeting passed quickly enough. Reid dismissed them, while he and Beach stayed behind to talk.

“He has such a boring name, darlings,” Freddie said, almost mournfully as they left.

“Live with it, Fred,” Brian laughed.

“I’ll be sure to let Jim know,” Deacy added with a wry smile.

“Oh hush, you know what I mean.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Horace Leroy was a very different man than Ray Foster. He was portly, with a bushy moustache. He smiled a lot, and had a rather pompous laugh, but he seemed to take  _ Queen  _ seriously. He let them talk, he actually listened, and didn’t talk over them.

_ Lightning Records. _ Roger couldn’t help but smile at the name.

The meeting went smoothly. Horace actually seemed eager to work with them. He said he’d have a contract ready for them to read over soon.

“He seems to really want you boys,” Beach said as they lingered outside by their cars.

“Of course he does, darling,” Freddie laughed, flipping his hair. Beach smiled, more sincerely this time. He still twitched in surprise when Brian went to shake his hand.

“For a lawyer he sure is awkward,” Brian said when Beach had gone.

“But we still have a deal in the works,” Deacy said. “At least he knows what he’s doing.”

“And we’re not stuck working with monsters,” Roger said with a scowl as they all climbed into the van. “Now let’s collect the others and get training.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could hardly leave Miami out! 😂
> 
> Next time: some training snippets, the boys showing off their powers, and flashbacks. Hopefully some recording too!


	18. Footprints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoebe would never again forget the day that Roger brought Freddie into his life. He'd decided that very day to protect the boy who would become his Queen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took on a life of it's own. It was going to be split pretty evenly as a bit of a "training montage" between Roger, Jim and Phoebe, but then Phoebe sort of took over 😂
> 
> Well, Phoebe deserves love and attention.

_“Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart.” _-Eleanor Roosevelt

  
  
  


Training was difficult. To begin with, they had to find somewhere isolated enough- and even then, they had to try and cloak the place, to hide it from mortal eyes.

It had been Joe who managed to find an isolated field...Well, not quite so isolated. It was littered with beer cans, cigarette butts, bottles and even some syringes. Jim immediately pushed Freddie and Roger behind him at the sight, shooting his fellow Nymph an annoyed glance.

“It’s the best I could do,” Joe huffed, folding his arms. “We can easily get rid of all this rubbish and hide it from humans.”

“There’s so much less greenery these days,” Brian said mournfully. He looked around the field and sighed. “But Joe’s right. It could work.”

“Let’s get to work on cloaking it first,” Roger said. He stepped forward, warily looking around for humans. “No point in cleaning if a bunch of drunks are going to turn up.”

As it turned out, casting spells could be tricky when you were out of practice. Anita scowled as her wards flickered to life overhead and immediately fell. It took three attempts before they held; it seemed to work best when Brian held her hand.

“That used to be so easy,” she sighed. 

“It’s easier when we’re emotional,” Freddie said, remembering Paul, remembering Foster and Sheffield.

“Or maybe just when we’re angry,” John said. He shot Anita a smile. “We’ve been doing more than you lately, don’t be so hard on yourself.” They all worked together to reinforce the wards, to well and truly hide their field. Nothing would be able to get in, not even animals, and nothing would be able to get out. Even if Roger lost control of his lightning, it would simply hit their invisible walls and shields.

Then came the cleaning. Joe balked at the idea of simply sinking all the filth into his precious earth. Vanishing objects was such a simple parlour trick, but even Roger scowled as he was met with resistance.

_ I can kill men, _ he thought furiously. _ I can summon storms, but _ vanishing objects _ is tripping me up? _Just as he was about to snap, the pile of trash in front of him vanished.

Maybe he was onto something about being angry…

  
  
  
  
  
  


Phoebe grinned as Jim’s wave of water smashed against his shield. The water sprayed out in all directions, but Phoebe remained dry and standing on his feet. His shield (a glowing sheet of rose-red magic) melted away into thin air.

“Getting better,” Jim said approvingly. A little ways away, Joe was focussed on bringing a patch of dead flowers to life. Slowly, but surely, it was working. As they watched, the flowers bloomed again. Even when Joe stepped back, they stayed beautiful and fresh. Brand new.

Phoebe remembered being able to save people from the brink of death. He remembered being annointed God of the Harvest, and helping to usher Spring in. He used to have total command over his powers, never doubting them a day in his life...And although he’d secretly practiced his healing over the years, he hadn’t practiced his battle skills. That had been a mistake.

Across the field, Brian and John were practicing teleporting. Brian had taken to teleporting like a duck to water, and seemed delighted with it. Phoebe couldn’t blame him. They’d once been able to disappear and reappear anywhere they wanted, as simple as walking through an open door.

“How much time do you think we have?” Phoebe asked Jim.

“Not long,” Jim admitted. “Ryu was working with Paul. He has to have noticed he’s vanished. It’s only a matter of time until we’re found out.”

“Do you think we’re ready?”

Jim looked at him and smiled sadly. “No.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ “Phoebe! Phoebe, I need you!” _

_ Phoebe raced into the main hall at the sound of Prince Roger’s voice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Roger sound sincerely _frightened.

_ He stopped dead at the sight that greeted him. Roger hovered over a young boy, who was wrapped only in a bedsheet. The boy was tiny, shaking, eyes wide with shock. Bruises littered his arms, and Phoebe could sense more wounds at a glance: a fresh whip mark on his back, bruises and cuts on his legs, bite marks on his thighs. _

_ What’s more, this boy was _human.

_ “Roger, what did you do?” Phoebe gasped. _

_ “Broke some rules,” Roger said impatiently. His eyes flashed, and Phoebe eyed the blood on his sword. “Just _ heal him _ please.” _

_ There was plenty of time for questions later. Right now, this boy needed Phoebe’s help, so he walked forward, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile, keeping his movements slow and gentle as he kneeled in front of the human boy. _

_ “Oh, sweetheart,” Phoebe said gently. “Poor thing, look at you.” He reached out and the boy flinched back. Phoebe swore he felt his heart break (just what had this child been through?) but he kept smiling. Slowly, the boy met his gaze. Whatever he saw in Phoebe’s eyes must have reassured him, at least a little, because when Phoebe reached for him again, he didn’t flinch away. _

_ One gentle caress of Phoebe’s hands, and the bruises on the boy’s arms vanished. The child’s eyes widened as he frantically looked between Phoebe and Roger, but at least there was some colour in his cheeks again. _

_ “I’ve gone insane,” he said breathlessly. _

_ “Not at all,” Phoebe said, smiling at him, more genuine now. He stood and walked around the boy. His back was exposed, and Phoebe easily healed the whip mark. “Welcome to the heavens, sweetheart.” _

_ “But the dead go to the Underworld,” the boy said. Roger had yet to look away from him; there was something fierce and protective in his gaze. Ah. This had to be the human he’d been watching lately. The little one from the temple, the one with the pretty eyes. And someone had hurt him. Judging by the blood on Roger’s sword, whoever had done this was dead. _

_ “You’re not dead either,” Phoebe told the boy. “Far from it. Can I get a look at your legs, love?” _

_ “How did you-?” The boy cut himself off with a sigh. “Right, you’re- you’re Phoebe…” Biting his lip, he let the bedsheet drop. _

_ “And you’re Roger’s human, if I assume correct,” Phoebe said as he went to work on healing the human’s legs. _

_ “ _ Roger’s _ human?” The child’s eyes flashed, and he turned sharply to Roger. _

_ Their Prince floundered, blushing terribly. “I...Er…” Phoebe couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Roger so flustered around someone. Maybe never, if he was honest. Not even around Dominique. _

_ “I asked you for help months ago,” the boy whispered. _

_ “I know,” Roger said, and his voice wavered. Phoebe kept working, telling himself that it wasn’t his place to listen in. He didn’t know the full story, he didn’t even know this human’s name… _

_ And then the sky abruptly turned black, and the thunder began. _

_ King Michael was angry. _

_ And Phoebe had the sudden, awful sense that it was because of Roger. Because of Roger and this human. _

_ Brian and John ran in, already dressed for battle, both of them too pale but grimly determined. _

_ “Rog,” John said. “You’re father-” _

_ “I know,” Roger said. He looked at the human, and his whole expression softened. For a moment, he wavered, and it hit Phoebe that Roger, who had been planning his father’s fall for years, was _ hesitating, _ hesitating for a human. _

_ Just who was this boy? What sort of power did he possess to make Prince Roger look so truly helpless? _

_ “Pheebs, look after him. Find him something to wear, some food or drink, whatever he wants.” He knelt down and gently took the human’s hand. “I’ll be right back,” he said with the sweetest smile that Phoebe had ever seen from him. _

_ “Where are you going?” the human asked, eyes wide. For all that he seemed upset with Roger, he also clearly didn’t want the War God to go. There was more thunder, more lightning, louder and closer, and they all winced. _

_ “I’m going to claim my crown.” To Phoebe’s further shock, Roger kissed the boy’s forehead, gently brushing a strand of hair off the boy’s face. “You just stay safe for now. Phoebe will look after you.” _

_ He stood, but the boy grabbed his hand again. Phoebe had the distinct impression that they’d both forgotten him, Brian and John. _

_ “Thank you,” the boy said quietly. _

_ Roger smiled, holding the boy’s hand tightly. And then he, Brian and John were gone, running off into war. _

_ The human glanced at Phoebe, blushed and quickly pulled the bedsheet back over himself, clutching it tightly. _

_ “Let’s get you a proper tunic,” Phoebe said gently. He rose and held his hand out. “And we can get you some food if you’re hungry. Or you can rest if you prefer? I’m sure you’re exhausted.” _

_ The poor thing looked simply stunned, but he took Phoebe’s hand, allowing Phoebe to guide him upstairs to Roger’s chambers. _

_ “I’m afraid my clothes will be too big for you,” Phoebe told him. “And honestly, so will Roger’s. But we can find something comfortable for you.” He smiled at the boy, releasing him to sort through the veritable army of robes and tunics. “What’s your name, sweetheart? Roger didn’t tell me.” _

_ “Freddie,” the human all but whispered. “My name’s Freddie.” _

_ “Lovely to meet you, sweetheart.” _

_ It broke Phoebe’s heart all over again when Freddie looked simply stunned to be given some privacy- Phoebe directed him to a painted wooden screen to change behind, and Freddie looked _ wary, _ like he was expecting a joke. Even as he walked towards the screen, he kept shooting Phoebe small, suspicious frowns. _

_ But when Freddie stepped back out, dressed in one of Roger’s old pale green green tunics, he looked much more comfortable. He stood taller, smoothing the fabric down, tossing his hair off his face. _

_ He looked, Phoebe thought, oddly regal… _

  
  
  
  
  
  


Phoebe had been there for everything. Right from that very first day, Roger had entrusted him with Freddie’s safety. And Freddie, despite the horrors he’d been through, came to trust Phoebe too. They’d spent so long just talking that first day, and Phoebe had wanted nothing more than to keep Freddie safe.

He was there when Freddie was given the position of Sun God. He’d been the one to escort Freddie into the great hall, gently holding him by the hand. He’d been there for Roger and Freddie’s engagement, their wedding. He’d been one of the first people to hold their children. He’d been there for the outpouring of rage and grief at Heydar’s death.

And he’d been there as they all narrowly escaped the new gods, transforming themselves into something new, gone for centuries.

He remembered how he’d gone weak at the knees with relief to see Freddie again.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ It was only two years ago, but it felt like a lifetime now. Phoebe had the rotten luck of going through his final year in a new school, and he felt sick with terror that first day. _

_ But as he’d wandered the halls during lunch, he heard someone playing the piano. Whoever it was, they were clearly talented. Their music was so beautiful it took Phoebe’s breath away. _

_ He quickened his pace, hurrying to the music room around the corner. He lingered in the open doorway, watching for a moment. The musician- a small boy with long black hair- had his back to Phoebe, humming softly as he played. _

_ “That’s beautiful,” Phoebe told him, and the boy turned around. _

_ The second their eyes met, it all came flooding back. _

_ Picnics in the palace gardens, war and bloodshed, laughter and tears; music, dances, sunlight and festivals. Mourning, terror, and the slightest bit of hope that they would see each other again one day. _

_ He wasn’t just Peter Freestone. He was the God of the Harvest, given that title by one of his dearest friends. He was the Queen’s closest friend and confidante. _

_ And sitting right in front of him, in a school uniform, was his Queen. _

_ “Freddie?” His eyes brimmed with tears, and he wanted to rush over and pull his friend into a hug, but Freddie frowned, and Phoebe’s happiness quickly vanished. _

_ “How’d you know my name?” _

He doesn’t remember, _ Phoebe realised, disappointed and horrified all at once. He wanted to cry. He felt dangerously close to tears. _

_ “Lucky guess,” he said weakly. “Some of the others, they, uh...They said the best...The best piano player was a kid called Freddie.” It was the best lie he could think of on the spot, but Freddie seemed to believe him, smiling at him. _

_ Just because Freddie didn’t remember didn’t mean he wasn’t still Phoebe’s Queen. And Phoebe vowed to himself that, this time, he’d succeed in keeping Freddie safe. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


After the first few days of training, Phoebe and Freddie had a rare, quiet day, with the flat to themselves. Freddie had Luna curled up on his lap; the cat was dozing, purring.

“I missed you,” Phoebe blurted out. “I- I don’t think I ever told you that. You were right there and...And you weren’t at the same time. I missed you.”

Freddie smiled gently, reaching out to take Phoebe’s hand, and Phoebe held on tight.

“I’m right here,” Freddie said. “I’m not going anywhere, darling.”

Phoebe raised Freddie’s hand to his lips and kissed it, grinning when Freddie giggled.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Freddie and Phoebe were in the palace gardens, lying together on a red blanket with a small picnic basket and a bottle of wine lying in the shade. The sun was shining, but weaker than usual with the lack of a Sun God. Things were finally starting to settle down, now that Roger was crowned King, but there was still so much to fix. _

_ A week had passed since Michael’s fall; Phoebe was now the God of the Harvest. Freddie was free to come and go as he pleased, and didn’t seem to know what to do with that fact. _

_ “Darling, can I ask you something?” Freddie all but whispered. _

_ “Of course, love.” _

_ “Who do I belong to now?” It was such an innocent question, and Phoebe had to close his eyes and swallow hard to keep from crying. _

_ “No one,” he said gently. He made himself face his friend, and somehow managed to smile. Freddie looked completely bewildered and Phoebe pulled him into his arms, holding on tight. “You belong to yourself.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would die for Phoebe Freestone.


	19. Snapshots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryu's son makes his reluctant report. John, surrounded by other's romances, reminisces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute, but I really hit a block with this story. After plenty of false starts, I decided to focus on John for a bit. Shout-out to "alldeadallbread" on tumblr for letting me ramble about this story! ❤

_ _

_ “Keep a little fire burning; however small, however hidden.”  _ ― Cormac McCarthy

  
  
  


A quiet moment. Gathered in the museum, wandering through the exhibits- through  _ their  _ exhibit. Looking at Deacy’s bow, missing it’s arrows, all the way out in Rome. Brian, quietly lamenting that his harp was in Rome. Roger eyeing his staff and sword possessively, his fingers itching to break through the glass and take them back. Freddie, gently running his fingers over the glass case in which his tiara was kept.

Deacy saw his frowning over the missing gems and discs, saw his sigh over the dim, dented patches and squeezed his shoulder. “I can fix it,” he told him quietly, making sure none of the humans wandering around would hear.

“You could fix anything,” Freddie said fondly.

He caught Roger’s eyes and his husband smiled.

  
  
  
  
  
  


High in the heavens, King Ryu loomed over his son. “So?” he demanded. “What have you to say? Do they know what they are?”

“I don’t think so,” his son said hoarsely. “They’re very fond of each other; Roger and Freddie are clearly devoted to each other still, but I don’t think they know.”

“Good,” Isabelle said coldly. She smiled, almost with approval. “You’re doing well, Gian.”

Their son licked his lips nervously. “That’s not my-”

“I don’t care for your so-called  _ human  _ name,” Ryu said. He waved his hand in dismissal. “You are still Prince Gian, and you would do well to remember that.” His green eyes narrowed. “If they don’t remember it will be much easier to take them out.”

“Do you know where their families are?” Vanessa demanded of her brother.

“Mostly,” Gian said reluctantly. He eyed his sister warily. Celio watched eagerly, his remaining eye gleaming. 

“Perfect,” Ryu said. “Keep an eye on them too. If the boys remember they’ll be good hostages.”

Gian went to speak, but stayed silent when Ryu held up an impatient hand.

“Get back to work, boy.”

Gian sighed and rose to his feet. “Yes, Father.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Thousands of years ago, the proposal had been a quiet thing. Some things never changed.

Roger spotted a ring in a shop window on his way home from visiting Tim, and he paused. It was a beautiful diamond ring, simple but elegant. The type of ring he could easily picture on Freddie’s finger.

He marched right in and bought it. He could well imagine how their families would react; concern, confusion; “You’re rushing into this.” And surely the press, already taking an interest in them, would say the exact same thing. Silly, childish rockstars, thinking they knew best.

Well, who cared? They’d been married for hundreds of years before they lost it all, and Roger didn’t care to wait a “reasonable time” to ask again. Why should he?

He marched home, the ring in his pocket, and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He wanted to be able to introduce Freddie as his husband again. They belonged together, simple as that, and he wouldn’t let a bunch of humans judge him.

Admittedly, Roger nearly blurted it out as soon as he got home. Freddie was curled up on the sofa with Luna, idly petting her as he watched the telly with Brian and Deacy. It took every ounce of self control he had to just sit with them and keep quiet.

“I’ve invited Tim to the BBC,” Roger told them. “That okay?”

“Of course it is,” Brian said. He grinned brightly. “He can tell us exactly what we’re doing wrong.”

Roger had to laugh, because Tim had said the exact same thing himself. Freddie instantly tucked himself under Roger’s arm, the cat still on his lap.

The question was right there, burning on the tip of Roger’s tongue, but he managed to keep quiet for now.

  
  
  
  
  
  


It wasn’t until they were in bed that night, that Roger asked him. Freddie was curled up in a ball, his head resting on Roger’s chest, and Luna was asleep on the rug.

“Freddie?”

“Hm? Yes, darling?” Freddie yawned, peering up at him through his hair, and Roger scrambled in his bedside drawer for the ring. He pulled out the little box, and Freddie instantly sat up straight, eyes wide in the gloom.

“Will you marry me?” Roger asked, opening the box to reveal the ring. Even in the dim room, it glittered. Freddie was beaming at him, even bouncing in excitement.

“We were already married,” he said in his best haughty voice. “So…”

“Then we can get married again,” Roger said, grinning at him. “What do you think?”

“I think Papa will gut you,” Freddie told him, but he held his hand out. “Now put it on me already.”

The second the ring was on his finger, Freddie threw himself into Roger’s arms, holding on tight.

“I love you, darling.”

“I love you too, Fred,” Roger told him, kissing the top of his head. This boy, this bright young man was his husband, his Queen. And come what may, Roger would never lose him again.

They’d fight and this time they’d win.

  
  
  
  
  
  


John felt like an awful friend, truth be told. He knew he should have been celebrating with his friends. They were engaged. They were all going to be on the BBC tomorrow. He should cling to any happiness he could find, before everything inevitably went to hell.

But when he saw the engagement ring on Freddie’s finger, all he could think about was Veronica.

Jim joked about Bomi and Jer killing Roger, Brian cheerfully said that Winifred would definitely cry and jump into wedding planning, and John...He struggled to join in.

What kind of friend did that make him? Roger and Freddie deserved to be happy, they deserved to  _ always  _ be happy. But he watched them, and he watched Brian and with Anita, and it  _ hurt. _

He wanted his wife. He wanted his children.

_ Where are you?  _ he thought, over and over, only of course there was never any answer. Veronica wasn’t here. His children weren’t here.

John wasn’t  _ alone,  _ of course not, he had his friends, but…

But it wasn’t the same. 

Despite the inevitable danger, at least John knew where his friends were. At least he knew they were safe. The worst thing was not knowing  _ anything  _ about Veronica.

As the day continued, the pain in his chest grew, and John slipped out of the flat when Anita kissed Brian, both of them giggling like children.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Veronica was beautiful, and John couldn’t look away from her for long. She had a new pink gown on today, one Anita had made for her, and pearls in her hair. _

_ She was beautiful. It was simply a matter of telling her so- only it wasn’t simple at all. The very idea of approaching her made John’s mouth dry up, and made his heart pound. His voice immediately deserted him. _

_ “Talk to her,” Roger said, nudging him. “Staring won’t get you anywhere.” _

_ John begged to differ. Staring sounded like the safer option. _

_ “Go on,” Roger urged, pushing him forward. “What’s the worst that can happen?” _

  
  
  
  
  
  


He ended up at the museum. He clutched his arrow pendant so tightly it left dents on his palm, and he paced through the exhibit until he felt less like he was falling apart.

He missed his wife.

He made three rounds of the exhibit, always slowing down when he passed his bow, aching for his arrows. Wishing to run off and shoot until his mind felt clear. Missing his old domain, his forge. He wanted to make something, to keep his hands busy, but what? New arrows maybe? A new bow? A sword, some jewellery, chains…

There was a girl standing in front of his bow, and John stopped.

She was petite, wearing a long blue skirt. There was a curious little smile on her face as she looked at the bow and read the lore behind it. 

There were pearl clips in her hair.

John felt terribly faint, suddenly certain he was hallucinating. He was desperate and seeing things. He was lonely, and his heart was aching; that was all. 

But then the girl turned and saw him, and her mouth dropped open, she stumbled back into the case. Her lovely face paled, her eyes filled with tears, and she began to laugh almost hysterically.

“John,” she said, not a question, but a statement.

It was enough to spur him into action.

John ran to her, heart racing, and pulled her into his arms. As soon as her arms wrapped around him, his own tears escaped.

  
All he could manage was her name, in an awed, breathless whisper:  _ “Veronica.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Veronica and John content and the BBC show (and hopefully moving onward to the "war")


	20. Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the games begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been ages, I'm sorry 😭 Anxiety took it's toll and no matter what I did I just couldn't get past the half-way mark with this chapter, I really wanted to get it right.
> 
> But anxiety is back under control and I'm pretty happy with this now! 
> 
> So here we go...

_ “Hold your breath, my love, just a little bit longer; I am on my way to you. Keep your eyes above, don't you ever look under; I am gonna rescue you…”  _ \- Light, Nathan Wagner

  
  
  


John waited to wake up. He waited for his alarm to go off, and to wake up to Brian’s snoring, to wake up alone without Veronica.

But he didn’t wake up. It wasn’t a dream. Veronica was  _ here,  _ she was here in his arms and John was  _ never  _ letting her go again. He thought he might die, genuinely die and not return this time, if he lost her again. He couldn’t fathom it, not again.

“Are the children with you?” Veronica asked quickly, her grip on him tightening.

“No,” John was forced to say, shame-faced. “I’m sorry, love.”

She was quiet for a moment before suggesting, “Maybe they need to be born again?”

It was something he hadn’t considered. After all, everyone else was back. And if the children needed to be born again, where did that leave the Princes? But...But  _ maybe… _

For now, he forced himself not to think of it. For now, he held his wife, his soulmate, until one of the security guards came along to tell them that the museum was closing.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Veronica felt giddy as she walked down the street, hand in hand with John. Perhaps she should have been more frightened, to have a lifetime of memories suddenly thrown at her, but it felt  _ right.  _ It felt like she had been waiting for this day all along, waiting for John, waiting to remember.

Her friends teased her for being “a nerd” about myths. But look where those myths had led her. 

She’d been part of those stories all along.

“You’ve really been with all the others?” she asked, swinging their joined hands. It was the fourth time but John still smiled at her. She just couldn’t believe it; trust her damn luck to be the last one to show up! What else had she missed?

“We’re all together,” John confirmed again. “We were waiting for you.”

“Does Anita remember me?” Veronica asked, because she’d once been Anita’s handmaiden, her friend; Anita had once pushed for her to court John, to let go of her shyness and go for what she wanted.

“She does,” John said with a grin and Veronica beamed at him, her grip on him tightening.

Her friends remembered her. John remembered her. That was what mattered. She could handle anything else that came their way, so long as she wasn’t alone.

She still felt terribly anxious as they reached John’s apartment complex. It had been thousands of years after all; John was happy to see her, but was she really so important to the others? Just a minor air goddess, what real importance did she have?

But as soon as they walked into the flat, the group fell silent. Everyone was staring at her with wide eyes, mouths hanging open. They were all there: Roger, Freddie, Brian, Mary, Anita, Phoebe, Joe, Jim…

Anita shrieked her name and ran forward, tackling her into a hug.

“You’re here!” Anita cried. “Oh, Ronnie darling, you’re  _ here! _ ”

Veronica was torn between laughing and crying as they all crowded her, all hugging her and asking a million questions. She caught Freddie’s eyes and gave a clumsy curtsy, out of practice.

“Your Majesty,” she murmured and Freddie, eyes bright, hugged her tightly.

“None of that,” he said gently. “There’s no need for it.”

“Bloody hell, care to explain?” Roger asked with a breathless laugh, mostly of shock she supposed. “Where’d you- how-”

“The museum,” John said, rubbing his arm with a sheepish smile. “Veronica was in our exhibit.”

“I was looking at his bow,” Veronica said with a giggle, reaching for John’s hand again, smiling as their fingers linked. “I just- I’d always been drawn to it. Suppose I know why now.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Veronica was used to having funny dreams. She dreamed of beautiful marble hallways, surrounded by creatures of myth. She dreamed of floating through the breeze, of becoming invisible to sneak treats from the kitchens. _

_ She dreamed of dancing in a golden ballroom, in the arms of a man who smelled of smoke; his face was a blur, yet she felt completely at home in his arms. _

_ And when she was abruptly woken by her alarm, all her sleep-addled mind could think was  _ ‘I’ll find you.’

  
  
  
  
  
  


As it turned out, the BBC was full of pricks.

“Lip-syncing!?” Freddie got right in the producer’s face, hands on his skinny hips. “You expect me to  _ lip-sync? _ ”

“Look, son, everyone does it,” the producer said somewhat impatiently, though he flinched back from the sheer outrage on Freddie’s face, from the subtle wave of power radiating from him. “It’s not the end of the world. You all just smile and look good and play along.”

“You do know we can play our own instruments, right?” Roger snapped.

“This is the BBC,” the producer said, turning away. “That’s how we do things here.” He left without a backwards glance.

_ “This is the BBC,” _ Brian and Tim mimicked snottily, noses in the air. 

“What a wanker,” Tim said, shaking his head.

“At least we know the performance will be perfect,” John said weakly, so it sounded more like a suggestion. Roger punched him on the arm and Freddie rolled his eyes; Brian offered him a hand onto the stage.

“I’d say good luck,” Tim said. “But, uh…”

“I’m gonna poke that fucker’s eyes out with my drumsticks,” Roger snarled, raising said drumsticks. He genuinely looked like he meant it.

“Well- good luck with the interview after then,” Tim said with a smile. His eyes flickered to Freddie’s ring. “Something tells me you’ll need it.”

“We’re dealing with some right nosy fuckers,” Roger sighed. “So yeah, probably.”

“No more creepy assistants at least,” Mary said with a faint smirk. Freddie ducked his head with a smile and Tim shook his head.

“Still no word on where the guy went, huh?” he asked.

“None,” Freddie confirmed; he hoped he looked convincingly concerned, anxious. “No ideas on what happened to Sheffield or Foster either.”

“Someone fucking blasted them,” Tim said, hands in his pockets. “You’d swear they were blown up.”

_ You’re not far off, Timmy, darling. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


Well, even if they  _ were  _ forced to lip-sync, at least  _ Killer Queen  _ was still proving to be a hit and Freddie knew how to rile an audience up, even when he was miming. Brian had to hand it to him, he had the entire room eating out of the palm of his hand. The people in the front row especially looked desperate for his attention.

He could see their friends off to the side, dancing along to the music and Brian winked at Anita, delighting in her smile. Miami stood with Reid, smiling; Reid alternated between texting and watching the band. Typical, really, he never seemed to take a break.

Of course the show went off without a hitch, they weren’t really  _ doing  _ anything so there wasn’t much room for error. Bloody fake instruments.

“And that was  _ Killer Queen! _ ” the hostess said brightly, a bubbly woman with red hair named Lily. “After the break we’ll be interviewing the band, so stay tuned!”

“Cut!” came the call, there was a faint  _ buzz  _ and the crew bustled about the set. Their friends joined them, all chatting and laughing, joking away.

And Brian suddenly had a very, very bad feeling.

It was like the air was too thick, too hot. He felt like thousands of eyes were watching him, he felt like a knife was being pressed to his back, something was  _ wrong- _

And then there was an explosion that shook the room, screams rang out and the lights abruptly shut off, replaced in seconds by dim emergency lighting. Everyone was screaming and running and Brian’s eyes darted about in the confusion, trying to make sense of it all. 

That wasn’t an accident, he knew it in his bones.

It was  _ magic. _

“What the fuck was  _ that? _ ” Tim cried. Jim had the good sense to grab their mortal friend and hold him close as the panicked crowd raced for the fire exit. Miami fought through everyone to reach them, Reid at his heels.

_ “Fire!” _ he called, deathly pale, he looked seconds away from fainting. “Fire! Come on, lads, quick!”

_ “Ryu,”  _ Roger hissed with cold certainty. It was what Brian suspected, what he dreaded, but he still asked “Are you sure?”

“I’d know that fucker’s signature anywhere,” Roger said. Heat radiated from him, his eyes momentarily glowed; he had to duck his head when Reid glanced back at them.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tim gasped as they ran. “Maybe it’s the gas line?”

_ If only it was that simple,  _ Brian thought grimly. Deacy had a tight grip on Brian’s arm, his right arm wrapped around Veronica. Brian held onto Anita’s hand with his free one, his eyes constantly flickering to his King and Queen.

If Ryu was indeed here, then it was quite simple: Brian wouldn’t let him hurt his family again.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The BBC studios were huge and the evacuation was a confused mess. No one knew what was happening, they just knew a fire was rapidly spreading.

“Okay,” Reid said, wiping at his sweaty forehead. “This way you lot, I don’t want anyone getting seperated-” He broke off with a shout as another explosion rocked the building. There was laughter up ahead, manic laughter, laughter that Brian recognised.

_ Celio. _

  
“Where are you!? Come out and play!” Ryu’s brother called. The air crackled with magic, the floor shook and the lights gave way entirely. “Come out and play  _ Your Majesties! _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun...😂 Here we go lads!
> 
> (Friendly reminder that Celio killed Heydar; Freddie and Roger won't be too happy to see him...)


	21. Crumbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it hits, it's swift and merciless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: murder, some gore, and mention of past rape
> 
> I'm not the best at fight scenes and that's what this chapter mostly is, but I tried. Here we go, lads!

_ _

_ “Here's some advice. Stay alive.” _-The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins

  
  
  


“Come out and play _ Your Majesties! _”

Celio. 

Just like that, Roger was filled with a blind fury. He remembered that hysterical, nearly unhinged laughter. He remembered some of his bravest men trembling as they told him that his son was dead. He remembered Freddie’s heartbroken wails. He remembered Cas’s quiet, furious grief. He remembered Roshan locking himself away, unwilling to face a world without his big brother in it.

He remembered the shock of Heydar’s birth wearing off, quickly replaced with awe. He remembered Heydar reaching for Roger’s golden whip, his sword, his spear; endlessly curious, wanting to be like Roger. He remembered the first time his son levitated a rock, spinning it around his own head, laughing.

_ “Daddy, daddy, look!” _

“What the fuck?” Reid breathed, and Celio rounded the corner, grinning maniacally. Missing an eye and the tip of his ear, Heydar’s work.

_ That’s my boy, _Roger thought, because leave it to Heydar to leave such a permanent mark- but that thought quickly left him, the burning hate taking hold again.

“There you are,” Celio laughed, clapping his hands. He drew his sword, already dripping blood. How many humans had he killed in his search for them?

“Jesus,” Tim said. Jim still had a firm grip on Tim’s arm, eyeing Celio warily. Roger knew that look on his face, he knew that Jim was wondering how to get the humans in the group out of here to safety. He was wondering that himself. He wanted nothing more than to blast Celio to pieces right here and now but-

“Good work, Gian,” Celio said, and Roger froze. Gian. Ryu’s son. He was here? _ Where? _Had he been following them, or was this simply more of Celio’s insane ramblings?

But then there was a quiet sigh, a tired noise that Roger knew too well; he’d heard that sigh in the studio, in meetings.

Miami stepped forward.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ No, _was all John could think. No. Surely not. Not their Miami. He couldn’t…

But Miami’s features were already blurring and shifting; in seconds, they weren’t looking at Jim Beach, they were looking at Prince Gian, with his thick black hair and dark blue eyes, his angular cheekbones, taller, thinner than the Miami they knew.

Gian had tried to stay out of the war as much as he could last time. Evidently, he had no such qualms this time.

Startled shouts rang out, not just from Tim and Reid, but from Brian, Anita, Jim and from John himself.

“You son of a bitch,” Roger snarled. Lightning crackled around his fists and Tim staggered back into the wall.

“I’m sorry,” Miami- no, _ Gian, _said. He looked mournful, unable to meet their eyes. “I-”

“Oh enough chit-chat,” Celio groaned. He marched forward, eyes on Roger and Freddie. “Let’s have some fun.”

It didn’t surprise John at all when Roger pounced first.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“What the fuck is going on!?” Tim demanded. A blast of magic shook the corridor, and Jim pulled him down, behind a partially collapsed wall. “Jimmy, mate-”

“I’ll explain later, I promise,” Jim said hurriedly. “But we need to get you and Reid out of here.”

“We _ all _need to get out of here,” Tim snapped, tugging on his hair. His terrified eyes flew to Celio, around the collapsing corridor, his nose wrinkling as the smoke grew. “I don’t know what’s going in, but that fucker’s insane; he’ll kill us.”

“Well, you’re right about that.” Perhaps their best bet really would be to get Tim and Reid out while Celio fought Roger. But at the same time, Jim couldn’t fathom leaving _ any _ of his friends behind.

Jim closed his eyes and _ focused. _Water encased his arms and Tim let out another weak, frightened groan.

“Fucking hell, is there anyone here that’s not some secret Hogwarts student?” he asked, about three shades too pale.

“Afraid not,” Jim said regretfully. “Just you and Reid.” He met his gaze and he hoped his smile was at least a little reassuring. “I _ promise _ we’ll explain everything,” he repeated.

“You’d fucking better,” Tim said. He glanced over the rubble and winced as Roger threw lightning at Celio, howling in fury. Freddie was glowing from head to toe, shooting beams of light. Brian was crouched over Reid, in a similar position to Jim and Tim.

“Get them out of here!” Roger ordered as part of the ceiling collapsed. “Just fucking _ go- _” He jumped out of the way of the falling rubble, rolling against the wall. “It’s too dangerous-”

“ROGER LOOK OUT!” Tim shouted as Celio summoned a barrage of knives; one flick of the War God’s wrist, and they flew at Roger’s back.

Freddie tackled Roger out of the way, a wave of his magic melting the knives.

Mary’s shadows wrapped around Celio’s ankles, easily lifting him and throwing him down the corridor. Joe formed a new wall from the debris, blocking them from Celio and Gian.

Jim heard Gian call their names; if he didn’t know any better, he’d say Gian sounded anguished. 

_ Fuck that, _ Jim thought, pulling Tim to his feet. _ Like we’ll fall for that again. _

“It won’t hold for long,” Joe said. “We need to go.”

Roger and Freddie were clearly reluctant, and Jim couldn’t even blame them. It took Joe, Phoebe, Brian and John to pull them along.

They were barely around the corner when the first _ thud _came, Celio’s furious howl echoing after them.

It wouldn’t take him long to catch up.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“How the fuck do we get out of here?” Brian asked as they ran. They ended up near the stage area again, only down the hall from it. By now, the emergency lighting was long gone; even the exit signs were all turned off, many of them blurred by smoke or shattered. And even if they got the exit, what then? Did they lead Celio and who-knew-what-else into a crowd of humans?

There was smoke everywhere, he could hear fire crackling; some doors were hanging open, entire rooms on fire. This wasn’t even safe for _ them, _never mind the two humans in their midst. Jim had torn strips from his shirt, soaking the rags and giving them to Tim and Reid to cover their mouths and noses, but it wouldn’t do much good for long.

“We can always try and blast our way out,” Roger snarled, lightning crackling around his hands, his eyes glowing; his steps left burning footprints behind.

“And bring the ceiling down on top of us all,” Veronica pointed out, clutching a stitch in her side. 

“Is _ anyone _going to tell me what the hell I just saw?” Reid demanded, voice muffled by the makeshift rag.

“We’re gods,” Freddie snapped impatiently, eyes golden, voice echoing. “We’re not human. We were reincarnated after we lost a war a few thousand years ago. The monster back there murdered mine and Roger’s eldest son. Will that do for now, darling?”

Reid only stared and Freddie scoffed, clearly rearing for a fight, any sort of fight.

“I’m going to kill him,” Roger swore. “And then I’m going to kill Ryu too.”

Before anyone could speak, there was another shout, a wave of magic in the air.

_ “GET BACK HERE!” _ Celio roared. _ “I’M NOT DONE, YOU COWARDS!” _

Roger skidded to a halt, and Freddie turned back around, his skin shimmering.

“I’m not done either,” Roger said and shot a beam of lightning down the hall. It hit Celio right on his left arm; he staggered to his knees, howling.

“Naughty, naughty,” a new voice said; there was a giggle, a sudden cold breeze. A young woman pranced through the smoke. She wore a bright yellow dress and beribboned sandals. She was tall and elegant...And she clutched a human head in her hand, idly swinging it by the hair, the way a child would with a toy.

Veronica gagged and Brian groaned in horror.

It was Princess Vanessa, clutching the head of the BBC presenter, Lily, her mouth still open in a scream, blood on her face, still dripping from her neck.

“You all look awful,” Vanessa said casually.

Celio laughed as he came closer, his footsteps laboured. “About time, niece,” he chuckled.

“I was busy,” Vanessa said, shrugging. “Mother found a lot of souls to reap.” At that, Mary snarled and Vanessa’s smile widened. “Oh dear, are you angry?” she asked. “Now, we could do this quietly-”

Joe’s summoned boulder missed her head by centimeters and Vanessa sighed. “Oh fine,” she said with a pout. “It’s more fun this way, anyway.”

“Get Reid and Tim out of here,” Roger ordered Jim. “Take some of the others-” He broke off, dodging Vanessa’s attack. “Just _ go! _”

“Oh no,” Vanessa said. “None of you are going anywhere.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Freddie was no stranger to hate. He had hated Paul, and all the slave masters; he had hated the government who allowed slavery, who praised and encouraged it. He had hated the monsters and creatures who tried to hurt him to get to Roger. He hated Ryu and his companions.

He _ despised _Celio.

_ He killed my baby, _ Freddie thought as he and Celio fought. _ He murdered my son. _

“Shame we have to kill you,” Celio said, smiling at him. His arm was dripping blood, charred from Roger’s attack. “Maybe Ryu will share you around first. Eh, little Queen? Back on your knees where you belong.”

“You really are so stupid,” Freddie told him, the ground cracking under his feet. 

Celio lunged for him, but Freddie was faster.

It was a good thing that Roger had hit Celio’s sword arm. His next swipe was clumsy, slower; Freddie easily side stepped it. Magic was crackling from him, the air charged with it. He was glowing all over, and Celio had only a split-second to realise his mistake.

Freddie grabbed him by the throat, the light around his hands changing to fire.

“Give my regards to my son,” Freddie snarled. Celio choked and hit at him, but Freddie’s magic grew and spread. Even the ground beneath them was on fire now, harmlessly licking at Freddie, but burning Celio.

Vanessa screamed her uncle’s name, but one last squeeze and the fire engulfed Celio entirely.

In seconds he was ash. The fire around Freddie died and he turned to Vanessa.

“I didn’t even want to torture Paul the last time,” he said flatly. “See what you lot do to me?”

Freddie was no stranger to hate. For instance, he hated that they had the power to turn him into _ this. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


Vanessa screamed and suddenly the air disappeared from around them. Even they needed air, and they were all quickly choking, gasping for breath.

Veronica vanished, transforming into air itself, trying to spread out, trying to get close enough to Vanessa to snap her out of her fury, to release the Princess’s hold, but Veronica had always been a minor air goddess- she was not Vanessa, not a recognised, powerful goddess, part of the pantheon, and she struggled.

Vanessa turned her furious gaze on her friends and Veronica, still air, still invisible, hastened to try and push them all back. John, her John, was sputtering on his knees. Brian and Anita were holding their breath, going red with the effort. Joe was gasping and gagging. Reid was horribly still, eyes already glassy, his mask slipping down his neck.

It was Tim who staggered to his feet.

_ Don’t! _ Veronica wanted to shout. _ Tim, no! _

Roger saw it too and he frantically shook his head, aiming lightning at Vanessa, but it was a noticeably smaller spell, weak and shaking; he couldn’t get a good aim, swaying on his knees. The goddess was glowing brighter and brighter, barely recognisable as a person anymore, her scream of fury was utterly inhuman.

It abruptly broke off when Tim hit her on the back of the head, with a piece of fallen debris.

Instantly, Vanessa’s hold on the air was broken; they could all breathe again, she stopped glowing. She touched the back of her head, and her fingers came back bloody; the look of shock on her face was enough to make Veronica giggle, though there wasn’t really anything funny about this at all.

Growling, Vanessa grabbed Tim by the neck.

_ “DON’T!” _ Phoebe screamed as Roger staggered to his feet.

They were seconds too late. In one swift movement, Vanessa snapped Tim’s neck.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Vanessa didn’t get to say anything after that. 

They all attacked at once; lightning, sunlight, moonlight, summoned weapons, water, earth, air, shadows. 

The blast of it threw them all back, clinging to each other, barely keeping their shields up.

They hit the ground together, landing in a tangled pile, gasping for breath, disoriented. 

Roger looked up, squinting past the throbbing pain in his head: Vanessa, broken and bloody, lay on the ground, inches from Tim. The pool of her blood grew, and she didn’t make a sound. Her dulled eyes stared at the ceiling, her mouth open in surprise.

“Good riddance,” Joe said, staggering to his feet. Phoebe ran for Reid, turning him over, cursing under his breath.

“Is he okay?” Brian asked; he sounded about as hopeless as Roger felt.

Phoebe shook his head, tears in his eyes. “He’s gone,” he whispered.

“We need to get out of here,” John said firmly. “_ Now. _I don’t care what’s waiting for us outside, but we can’t stay in a burning building.”

“We can’t leave them,” Freddie said, looking at Reid and Tim. “They- we _ can’t- _” He broke off when Roger took his hand. As much as Roger hated it, he knew they couldn’t very well go around dragging two bodies with them.

“Roggie,” Freddie said, but Roger shook his head.

“Brian, could you open a portal big enough for all of us?” he asked.

“No,” Brian said regretfully. “I can teleport myself, but…” He shook his head. “Not others. Not yet anyway.”

“Then we find the nearest fire exit,” Roger said. “We can put out any fires we come across on the way, let’s just _ go _before any of the other fuckers turn up.”

“D’you think Gian’s gone to tell Ryu?” Jim asked as they ran.

“I don’t know,” Roger had to admit. “I don’t fucking _ care _either. All I know is, when I see the bastard, I’ll kill him.”

Miami, their Miami; their awkward, funny lawyer, their _ friend. _Only he hadn’t been their friend at all, had he? He hadn’t even been Miami.

  
  
  
  
  
  


It took longer than they cared to admit to find an exit. They staggered out the back door, into the sunlight. They’d put out five fires in total on their way. They could hear sirens from the front of the building; they could see fire on the roof, there was smoke everywhere. Roger didn’t doubt there’d be reporters up front too.

They didn’t have time to pretend to be frightened humans; Ryu was somewhere nearby.

In all the chaos, it was easy to slip away, towards the main street. With everything already gone to hell, it was easy for Roger to summon a storm, a tempest.

The rain poured down in sheets, the lightning so close it caused frightened screams from the onlooking crowd, the thunder deafening. It was chaos and Roger stood there in the downpour, letting out frustrated sobs.

Tim was dead. Reid was dead. Miami was a traitor. He couldn’t even cling to Vanessa and Celio’s deaths, not right now, not when everything was so _ wrong. _

Tim was his _ friend. _

“We need to get somewhere safe,” Anita said, but where was safe anymore.

“We’ll go home for now,” Mary said with forced calm. “But I think it’s high time we take back our weapons, don’t you?”

Roger thought of having his sword and spear back, and he’d be lying if the idea didn’t give him some relief. How often had he stood in the museum and itched to have those weapons back in his hands?

He didn’t want to go home. The idea of leading Ryu to his flat made him sick, but where else could they go? They could hardly go to any of their parents.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He wished he could say the message burned into their door surprised him. He wished he could, but it didn’t.

Burned into the wood, sprawling down the entire door were the words _ COME HOME, YOUR MAJESTIES _

Home.

_ Rome. _

The inside of the apartment was untouched, and Luna was clearly spooked by the storm, running straight into Freddie’s arms, whimpering until he lifted her, cradling her against his chest, the way he once did for their sons.

The apartment was untouched, but Ryu had _ been here. _

“Fucking Gian,” Brian snarled, voicing Roger’s thoughts.

  
“We’re going to the museum,” Roger ordered. “ _ Now. _We’re taking our weapons back. We’re going to Rome.” His voice began to echo: “And then we’re finishing this, once and for all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So long Celio, won't be missing you.
> 
> Did I get anyone with that Gian reveal? 😂


	22. From Here On In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the old gods to come home...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to @eileen-crys on tumblr for the fanart and for giving me permission to post it here! If you have the chance, check her out, her art is amazing 💕
> 
> I was meant to be seeing Queen tonight, so what better way to distract myself than writing about them? 😂

_ _

_ “Let me tell you what I wish I'd known, when I was young and dreamed of glory: you have no control. Who lives, who dies, who tells your story? I know that we can win, I know that greatness lies in you; but remember, from here on in, history has its eyes on you.” _\- History Has Its Eyes On You, Hamilton

  
  
  


Only a mad man would venture out into this storm. 

It was right where Roger belonged.

Driving was dangerous, insane, but they needed to get to the museum as quickly as they could, so walking was simply not an option. They had a small case of their belongings each, and Freddie held Luna on his lap, shushing her when she whimpered, frightened of the thunder and lightning. Roger, Freddie, Phoebe, Joe and Jim were in the first car; Brian followed behind with Anita, Mary, John and Veronica.

Roger couldn’t seem to stop the storm. His emotions were in turmoil, his mind a mess, and his powers reacted accordingly. He couldn’t calm down. He couldn’t stop the tempest.

It seemed the entire city had lost its power. There were no lights on, hardly any other cars on the roads, no people. Roger wondered what would happen, when the fire-fighters and press realised that _ Queen _were missing from that burning studio. They’d presume they were dead, surely. But add on the message burned into their front door, and maybe they'd assume they'd been taken.

He doubted that Lily was the only human who had been butchered. What had Vanessa said? That Isabelle had found plenty of souls to reap? They were all vicious, Roger didn’t doubt they’d left a mess behind. And Tim, their poor Tim...

There’d be uproar, no doubt. Arson, murders, missing people. The press would have a field day.

They’d have to let their families know they were okay. Maybe call them before they left, try to stop by...

He’d worry about that later. For now, they had weapons to reclaim.

  
  
  
  
  
  


John spread his magic out, sensing, careful. After a moment, he nodded and turned to Roger.

“No power,” he confirmed. “The cameras are all off, none of the lights are working- only the emergency lights.”

“Any humans?” Roger asked briskly. His eyes were beginning to glow red, his voice was beginning to echo.

“A few,” John said. “Security guards, I suppose. In the back rooms.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Mary said. At John’s alarmed look, she sighed and added, “I’ll knock them out, dear, I won’t kill them.”

Apparently out of patience, Roger marched ahead. The heavy oak double-doors flung open at his approach, electricity bounced off him in little bursts, spreading out over the soaked pavement.

Silently, they followed their King.

  
  
  
  
  
  


One look, and the glass cases shattered. Eagerly, Roger took his sword and staff; instantly, the ancient weapons began to glow in his hands, there was a surge of power and all Roger could think was _ finally. _

It felt _ right. _ It almost- _ almost- _felt like coming home.

John held his bow reverently, grinning ear to ear. Veronica grabbed an old knife of Mary’s; it was chipped, dulled, and missing all but one of the sapphires from it’s hilt. One more thing for Deacy to fix.

Hesitantly, Freddie took his tiara. 

“I’ll fix that,” Deacy promised him again. Freddie nodded, looking at the tiara like he couldn’t quite believe he was holding it again.

“I remember when you gave me this,” Freddie said quietly, to Roger. His voice cracked and wavered as he said, “Heydar kept trying to grab it.”

“We’ll get him back too,” Roger promised. “Either we find him, or we have to make him again, but I promise you, Freddie, we’ll get out sons back.”

Freddie nodded, clutching the old tiara against his chest. His breathing was shaky, and Roger worried he was about to have a panic attack, or else burst into tears, but Freddie opened his eyes again, strong and determined.

“We’ll get them back,” Freddie said, as much to himself as to Roger.

“Let’s go,” Jim said. “We’ve got what we need.”

True enough; they took anything that was theirs, or had once belonged to friends and family. 

“Right,” Roger said. He held his weapons tightly, life or death, and said, “We’ll check on the Bulsaras first, they’re closest. Then we need to get to Rome.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


The sight that greeted them shouldn’t have been a surprise. Burned into the Bulsaras front door were the words _ COME HOME YOUR MAJESTIES _

“Oh no,” Freddie whispered. He doubled over, arms wrapped around himself. “No, no, no-” He broke off with a sob, eyes wide and glassy, falling into a panic attack in seconds.

“Fred-” Roger led him back to his car. He looked at Jim, Brian and Deacy, and jerked his head to the house. The three of them hurried inside and the others hovered by Roger’s car. Mary squeezed in next to Freddie and took his hand, gently coaxing him through his breathing exercises.

Their friends came running back; one look at them told Roger what he already knew. The Bulsaras were gone.

The thunder and lightning grew, and Roger tried to steady himself past the blood roaring in his ears, the fury in his veins.

“Our families,” Veronica said hoarsely, voicing what they were all thinking.

Brian volunteered to teleport and check, though they already knew what to expect. All the same, Roger agreed to let him go.

It only took a few minutes for Brian to appear again, tears streaming down his cheeks. He shook his head limply, his hair soaked and plastered to his face.

“They’re all gone,” he said. He threw Roger a wary glance and added, “Even Michael.”

_ “Fuck,” _ Roger groaned, burying his face in his hands. Freddie was having a full-blown panic attack, gasping for breath. Luna howled, pawing at his knee. Roger reached back and took his free hand, holding on tight. The rain came down even harder.

Down the street, a tree was struck with lightning. Another collapsed in the heavy wind.

“Rog,” Joe said warningly, but Roger couldn’t stop it.

“They’ll pay for this,” Roger hissed, seething. “They’ll fucking _ pay. _ ” He was beginning to glow all over; he grabbed his weapons and stepped out of the car, lightning and magic radiating from him. “All of you grab your things,” he ordered. “We’re going _ now. _”

“You can’t teleport us yet!” Deacy protested. “We could end up in fucking Australia for all we know!”

“You already knew we couldn’t chance an airport,” Roger snapped. _ “Now let’s go.” _

They didn’t even have time to lock their cars; the even left some of the doors hanging open. Roger had a brief moment where he wondered if they should, but in the end it would play into the missing-persons narrative. Especially with their families missing.

God knew what people would say. Stalkers, crazed fans, underground connections?

What the fuck would they do when they got to Rome?

They all clung together and Roger paused only to kiss Freddie’s forehead.

“We can do this,” Roger said. “_ You _ can do this.” Freddie was safely bundled in Mary and Phoebe’s arms, still clutching Luna; Phoebe held the tiara. Still trembling, Freddie nodded.

Driven forward by the fury in his heart, Roger slammed his weapons onto the ground.

There was a deafening crack of thunder, a flash of light and for a moment the whole world went white.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Warm air, birdsong, flowers. Roger opened his eyes and laughed in relief. He’d know this view anywhere. He knew this city, though so much had changed.

_ “Propria domus omnium optima,” _Roger laughed, throwing his head back. They stood on a hill, the city of Rome below them. By his estimate, they weren’t too far from the Colosseum itself. He knew, from research, that some of their own temples were nearby.

“My God,” Mary breathed. “You did it!”

“We’re home,” Phoebe said, tears in his eyes. Anita had her hands clapped over her mouth, faintly glowing. Veronica, overjoyed despite it all, hovered a few inches in the air. Joe sat on the dry grass, basking in the smell of the flowers; Jim stood by his side, looking around with awe.

Silently, Freddie took Roger’s hand and clung to him for dear life.

John and Brian joined them and, quietly, said their old battle cry, little more than a whisper now. A warning. A promise.

_ “Ad victoriam.” _

_ “Ad victoriam,” _Roger and Freddie echoed. Their friends repeated it solemnly, all of them joining the four of them; they were still soaked from Roger’s storm, holding their bags. Luna purred, much more content now.

“We’re home,” Roger said. Despite everything, a sense of relief stole over him. This was their city.

And soon, he was determined, they would have everything back.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Kashmira remembered running through a forest, clinging to her lover’s hand. They would escape, flee Rome and once they were safe, they would marry. They would have a life together. _

_ They would be free. _

_ She would no longer be a slave, her lover would no longer be beaten senseless by his father. They would have children of their own and they would _ worship _ their children, they would keep them safe. _

_ She remembered laughing and crying in relief, in joy, when they escaped. They settled by a small seaside town and lived anonymously for years. _

_ Until, of all people, Queen Mary of the Underworld found them. _

_ “I see it,” she said with a smile. “You look so much like Freddie.” _

_ Kashmira, on her knees in terror, clutched her infant son closely. “My lady, whatever sin I have committed-” _

_ “Oh hush, child,” Mary laughed lightly. She knelt in front of Kashmira, spreading her pink skirts out around her. “I’m not here to harm you. I’m here to bring you to your brother.” _

_ “My- _ what? _ ” _

Kashmira opened her eyes and watched the man, Ryu, warily, angrily. He paced restlessly, vowing vengeance for his daughter and brother. 

“Your whore of a son,” Ryu hissed at Bomi and Jer. “Will sorely regret taking what’s mine.”

_ You took from him first, _Kashmira thought, lightheaded as memories continued to assault her. Jer was sobbing, Bomi looked seconds away from fainting and Kashmira was certain that, unlike her, their memories had not been unlocked.

“Father, please-”

_ “SILENCE, GIAN!” _

The younger man, Gian apparently, stepped back, head bowed. He looked pale, anguished.

“He was a bed slave, you know,” Ryu said pleasantly, as if they were having a normal discussion. He twirled his sword as he spoke, pacing again. “Perhaps he should be again, before we kill him.”

“Make Roger watch,” Isabelle added furiously. Tears still streamed down her cheeks. “That whore killed Vanessa,” she said, her voice breaking. “Her soul- I want Mary myself, Ryu, that bitch is _ mine. _”

“Of course, my love,” Ryu said. “Leave Roger and Freddie to me.”

“You’re mad,” Harold May choked. “All of you.”

“Oh far from it, dear man,” Ryu said, grinning.

_ No, he’s right, _ Kashmira thought. _ You’re mad. _

Jer was sobbing harder than ever and Kashmira tugged on her chains, edging closer to her mother.

“It’ll be okay, Mama,” she whispered. “Freddie will find us.” Tears stung her eyes and she did her best to smile. “He always does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gang's in Rome now! We shouldn't have too much of this story left, but who knows where we'll end up in terms of chapters, because I sure don't 😂
> 
> "Ad victoriam": to victory, a Roman battle cry  
"Propria domus omnium optima": of all houses, one's own house is the best (the closest I could find to "home sweet home")
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


	23. Tactics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumours are already spreading about the boys' disappearance. His Royal Highness, Prince Gian, has a choice to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, lads! 😎 "Let The Feeling Grow" is finished, so I'll have a lot more time for this story (I hope!)

_ _

_ “You don't stop fighting a war just because you're losing battles. You change tactics.”  _ ― S.A. Chakraborty, The Kingdom of Copper

  
  
  


It was so strange being back in Rome. Freddie had dried them all off in seconds, but from there they wondered what to do and where to go. Surely if they tried to book into a hotel or hostel, they’d be recognised? It wouldn’t be too hard to manipulate the humans around them- or so Brian hoped- but was it worth the risk? And if they didn’t stay in a hotel, where could they go?

For now, they wandered throughout the city. The sun was bright and hot on their faces, they pushed their way through crowds of tourists and locals. 

“Where do we go?” Phoebe asked, clutching his case tightly.

“Dunno yet,” Roger admitted. “But we’ll figure it out.”

For now, Brian focussed on the scenery. It was all so different, and yet there were locations he recognised. There were ruins of temples,  _ their  _ temples, and ruins of the new gods’ temples. He felt like he was dreaming. When he looked down at himself, he kept expecting to see a toga, glittering jewellery, a harp in his hand.

But his harp was here, somewhere in this city, waiting for him. His hands ached to hold it again.

  
  
  
  
  
  


As the sun set, they found themselves in a field by some ruins; not a temple, but a bathhouse. It was easy to put up charms as they did back in London, to hide themselves. Anita, Phoebe and John summoned tents and they did their best to relax.

They had to get to the heavens. They had to get back home,  _ truly  _ home. They had to save their families.

Roger could dimly hear crickets, and he stared up at the stars. He felt surprisingly calm. Almost peaceful, if not for the tension burning in the back of his mind. He didn’t give a shite about Michael, but if Ryu harmed a hair on Clare or Winifred’s heads, he’d rip Ryu’s head from his shoulders. He’d burn that man’s world down, as he had Roger’s.

There was one thing that made him smile to himself: Vanessa was dead. A child for a child, however grim that made him. He didn’t care anymore.

They were here, in Rome. They were in their city. Soon, this would be over.

  
  
  
  
  
  


There was something to be said about Rome; even late at night, it was still busy. It was easy for them to slip into a bar; it was crowded with English tourists, and surprisingly quiet: everyone was gaping at the small television on the wall. It was the news. They were showing outside footage of the fire at the BBC and Brian winced to see the studio burn, he hated to see the frightened, tearful onlookers.

And then came what they were really waiting for.

The reporter, a tall brown-haired man, listed ten people in total as murdered. Stabbed, decapitated, necks broken. They reported Reid by name. Then the people who died in the fire itself- six dead from smoke inhalation, three dead from burns, another fifteen in hospital.

“At first, emergency services believed  _ Queen  _ to be dead somewhere in the blaze,” the reporter said, eyes solemn. “But then their neighbours made a worrying report. Jill?”

The camera switched to a blonde woman, standing in front of their flat. There was police tape across the door, but they could still clearly see the message of,  _ COME HOME, YOUR MAJESTIES  _ burned there into the wood.

“Thank you, Barry,” Jill said. “Around four pm today, the neighbours of Roger Taylor, Brian May, Freddie Mercury and John Deacon came home to find the band’s door wide open, with this troubling message burned into it. The authorities attempted to contact the boys’ families, only to find that they too are missing, with the same message burned into their front doors. The friends that accompanied them to the BBC today are also missing. The police are now treating this as a kidnapping, and speculations are rampant that the fire, now confirmed to be arson, was set in an attempt to accoust the band.”

_ “Jesus,” _ Brian heard the bar-tender breathe. He slumped further into his seat, turning to face the wall, feeling absurdly guilty. He thought of their growing fanbase and clutched his glass tighter.

“Well…” John tapped the table, biting his lip. “They’re not far off, technically.”

“All those people,” Freddie said quietly. “They didn’t deserve that- they were just  _ there,  _ they didn’t do anything wrong.”

“They didn’t,” Roger said, eyes dark. “It’s one more thing the fuckers are going to pay for, I promise you that.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Little did they know, things were quite going to plan for Ryu at that moment.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Ryu stood in the doorway to his son’s room. Everything was perfectly in place, barring one exception.

His son was missing.

They’d searched his human abode, but he hadn’t fled there. He’d left no clues. He was cloaking his magic signature infuriatingly well.

No sign of him.

The blood drained from Isabelle’s face. “He left again,” she said, barely a whisper. Betrayed, heartbroken by the loss of Vanessa, furious. “He  _ left, _ ” she repeated, louder.

_ “Find him!” _ Ryu barked at the lingering guards. “Find him, and  _ bring _ him to me!”

“Yes, my King,” they said quickly, and fled. Fire erupted around Ryu and he roared in fury, tearing at his hair. Gian had never been much of a warrior, he’d never been one for bravery- he’d distanced himself years ago, living among humans; a weakling, a disappointment.

And now this.

He’d  _ left  _ them.

Vanessa had teased Gian about being fond of the old gods. Ryu had laughed in Gian’s face. He’d taken it for a joke.

But what if…?

“This is their fault,” he seethed. “I know it.” He turned away from the empty room and took his wife by the hand. “Come, my dear,” he said, voice softening. “We must have a discussion with Michael.”

“He really left us,” Isabelle repeated weakly. Her eyes were bleak and she looked at Ryu like she wasn’t quite sure where she was. “Darling, do you truly think he’s betrayed us?”

“For his sake,” Ryu said, ice cold. “He’d better not have.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Not so far away as Ryu and Isabelle would have thought, Prince Gian, otherwise known as Jim Beach, slipped through the crowds, head down, dressed as unassumingly as possible. He stuck to the side-streets and shadows, repeating his name to himself;  _ Miami. You were Miami for a while. Be Miami again. _

He had given into his father’s demands, given into the threats, and he’d regret it to his dying day. Innocent humans were dead. The old gods-  _ Queen,  _ those funny, clever boys- were missing, but Miami didn’t doubt they were somewhere in Italy. Perhaps even in Rome itself by now.

He hoped so.

Because he didn’t intend to make the same mistakes again.

He’d stayed out of the first war, telling himself he was doing the right thing. He’d stay out of it. He wouldn’t fight, he wouldn’t take any lives. He wouldn’t do anything wrong…

But inaction had never served him well, and now he’d picked the  _ wrong  _ actions. He wanted to make things right. The news god may have been his family, but he’d known for a long time that they needed to go.

Gritting his teeth, Miami ducked around the corner, hiding from his father, searching for his friends.

_ (Oh, how he hoped they could still be his friends.) _

Finally, he came upon a familiar temple. The beautiful golden decorations and statues were long gone, the gardens were overgrown; the white marble was missing in places, the mosaics cracked, the columns tumbling and part of the ceiling was missing; the well was long dried up, but compared to most ancient buildings, Roger’s temple was actually in wonderful condition.

Miami glanced around quickly for any humans or gods, perhaps even a monster. Nothing and no one was around.

So, frightened but determined, certain they’d show up eventually, Miami made his way into Roger’s temple and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always saw the group camping out by ruins, it's one of the first images I had in mind for this story 💕  
(In which no one is really having a good time, not even Ryu 😂)
> 
> Next up: the group meets Miami again...


	24. Trembling Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute 😅 Due to some real-life bullshit, I really needed a break, but I'm back and ready to put the boys through drama!

_ _

_ “__When fiercely riding through the boiling sea, thy hoarse command the trembling waves obey.” _\- Orphic Hymn 17 to Poseidon

  
  
  


In the heavens, Kasmira watched with narrowed eyes as Michael paced up and down. More and more memories had been returning to her, to all of them. Especially to Michael- after all, Ryu had recruited him, the old fallen King, the former God of Thunder and Lightning.

And now that he remembered, Michael had sworn vengeance on Roger, Brian and John for killing him. He swore to skin them alive, shouting at Winifred to shut up when she sobbed.

But it wasn’t Michael that Kashmira was afraid of, not really. She didn’t doubt that the boys could overcome him once again. No, it was Ryu and Isabelle, with their growing desperation and fury, that frightened her.

Apparently, their son was missing. Fled in the night.

If she hadn’t been so frightened, she would have laughed.

“What do we do?” Jer whispered to Bomi, for perhaps the thousandth time. Bomi shook his head; he didn’t have an answer.

“We wait,” Kashmira said, though it galled her to sit here. “It’s all we _can_ do.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Miami didn’t have to wait long.

In the early hours of the morning, before dawn, Roger and Freddie went to Roger’s old temple. It was eerily silent, no humans, not even any animals. Just them, beneath the open sky, watching the stars go dim.

The temple had changed over the years. The gold decorations were gone, the marble was cracked; the mosaics were missing tiles, the murals were faded and patchy. The statues were missing arms, or the tips of their noses. All the same, Roger felt at peace. He felt at _ home. _He remembered, clear as day, the worship that took place here. The priests, singing to him; the people at silent prayer, the sacrifices.

Roger breathed deeply, arms held out as though to embrace the air around him.

And then he noticed Freddie looking at a bust in a small alcove. It was roped off, to keep tourists from getting too close, but Roger knew it all too well.

“I used to pray here all the time,” Freddie said quietly, his hand absentmindedly drifting to his neck, where his slave collar used to be. Roger winced as he remembered the bruises he’d seen on Freddie’s arm, the harsh insults Prenter would hiss.

“Whenever he dragged me along with him, I’d pray for help,” Freddie continued, still staring at the bust like it was something from a dream. Or a nightmare. “I’d pray for his death.”

“I know,” Roger said, slightly unsteady. That sense of peace was quickly leaving him, replaced by an old and familiar guilt. He took Freddie’s hand and held on tightly. “I’m sorry I took so long to answer.”

Before Freddie could say anything, there were footsteps, hushed and hesitant. Roger scowled, half-expecting a human, but knowing better. He could sense magic growing in the air, slowing unveiling itself, a silent, cautious greeting.

With a furious growl, Roger spun around and, with one wave of his hand, sent Gian- back in his guise of Miami Beach- flying into the farthest wall. 

_ “You,” _ he hissed. _“You traitorous son of a bitch.”_

Freddie’s eyes began to glow, the air around him crackling with heat. Miami- _ Gian, _damn it, unsteadily rose to his feet. “Please,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m alone, I promise. I mean you no harm.”

“That’s fucking rich,” Freddie scoffed. Roger stood between his husband and Gian, lightning sparking from his fingertips. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“I want to help,” Gian said simply. “I’m sorry. I was a coward, I was weak, and it cost Reid and your friend their lives. I know I can’t repay that.” His eyes took on a determined glint. “But you need to get to the heavens, don’t you? To stop my father.”

“I’m not falling for this bullshit-”

“They know you’re not in London; they know you must be here, but don’t know where yet. _ Yet. _ Once they figure it out, they’ll come for you, and they won’t care how many humans die along the way. They have your _ families.” _And then came the words Roger dreaded: “My father wants to recruit yours.”

Damn it. Thrice damned, not _ again. _

“Fuck,” Freddie said flatly, but his eyes were still glowing.

“I want to help,” Gian repeated.

“What’s in it for you?” Roger demanded. “What do you want?”

“I know better than to make demands of you, Roger,” Gian said with a weak smile. When Roger only continued to glare, he sighed. “I know you don’t believe me, but I want to do the right thing. I...I stayed on the sidelines last time, I helped the wrong people this time. My father shouldn’t rule, you and I both know that.” He looked to Freddie. “We _ all _ know that.”

With a snap of Freddie’s fingers, chains wrapped around Gian’s wrists, pulling his hands tightly together. It wouldn’t do much, they weren’t enchanted, but it made them both feel better.

“If I even _ think _you’re going to try something,” Roger warned. “I’ll kill you where you stand.”

Gian looked him in the eye and smiled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Deacy and Brian visit a museum, and we get some answers on the lost princes...


	25. And Come Out Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miami proves his worth as an ally. The mystery of the princes is finally solved, and Brian and John reclaim what's theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly the gang plotting, but Miami/Gian has a lot of useful knowledge. It's been thousands of years: Ryu's definitely made changes to the palace's layout.

_ _

_ “By flash and thunder fire I'll survive, then I'll defy the laws of nature and come out alive- then I'll get you.” _\- The Seven Seas Of Rhye, Queen

  
  
  


Understandably, the others weren’t happy to see Gian, marched towards them in between Freddie and Roger. They all quickly stood, magic swirling around them, Jim and Joe summoning their elements.

“It’s okay,” Roger said, though he didn’t sound like he believed it. “He’s here to- negotiate.”

“I’m here to help,” Gian corrected quietly. Roger snorted, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed in distrust and distaste. 

“Sure you are,” Mary said icily. Roger shoved Gian forward, and the water god nearly stumbled to his knees. He sighed quietly and sat, holding his hands up in surrender. 

“I really am here to help,” he said. “I can tell you exactly where my father has everyone stationed. I know where he’s holding all your families. He’s certain you’re here, but doesn’t have your exact location- and we all know that, once he finds you here, he’ll come for you. He won’t care how many humans die on the way, you _ know _that.”

“And _ you _care?” Brian demanded. “You certainly didn’t seem to when you attacked the BBC!”

“I have no excuse,” Gian said, bowing his head. “And I know that too.”

“You’re right,” Brian said. “You don’t. Tim was killed, _ our friend _was killed.”

“So was your sister and uncle,” Deacy chimed in. “How can we trust you don’t want to avenge them? How can we trust this isn’t a trap?”

Gian gestured to Mary. “Queen Mary can read my soul if she wishes.”

Mary’s eyes narrowed and she abruptly stalked towards him, her eyes glowing, shadows billowing out around her. She grabbed him and pulled him forward, her hands resting on his temples. He closed his eyes, sitting stiffly, while Mary sifted through his soul, his mind, his memories- everything that made Gian what he was.

After a moment, she stepped back, the shadows dying down, her eyes returning to their usual blue.

“He’s telling the truth,” she said flatly, and sat next to Freddie. “I don’t like it, but he’s being sincere.”

Roger almost looked disappointed, perhaps having hoped for more of a fight. Instead, he huffed impatiently and said, “Well then, you’d better start talking, Gian. What exactly is your plan?”

“Like I said, I know where everyone is.” He looked around at them all. “How’s your teleporting?”

“Individually? Not bad,” Anita said. She eyed him warily. “We still have trouble teleporting as a group.”

“We can work with that,” Gian said. “Does anyone have anything I can draw on?”

Freddie summoned a small sketch pad and pen, and Gian smiled his thanks as he took it. He quickly began to scribble a map of the palace, dotting down little X’s at random. 

“This is where he usually stations the guards,” Gian said, tapping each X in turn. “And here-” He flipped the page and drew a rough outline of the dungeons. There seemed to be more cells than there used to be. “Here’s where he’s keeping your families. They’re all in the one cell, but-” He glanced at Roger almost apologetically. “Like I said, he wants to recruit Michael. He more than likely has by now.”

“Let him,” Roger said coldly. “I killed him once, I’ll do it again.”

Gian nodded. “There’s traps,” he said. “The dungeons are like a labyrinth now, bigger than they were when you ruled. Booby-traps, monsters, guards on every corner. Getting past them will be tough work.”

“But I can turn invisible,” Veronica said with a small smile.

“And I can stick to the shadows,” Mary added.

“This...Could work,” Roger said. He still glared at Gian, but there was a new look in his eyes. Not quite trust, not quite respect, but close. 

“I also know where most of the wards are stationed,” Gian said. “At least, I know where the newer ones are. I can help with disabling them.” He fidgeted nervously under their collective gazes. “They didn’t react well to Celio’s and Vanessa’s deaths,” he warned them. “It shook them. Frightened them, I think. But they’re _ furious. _Vanessa was their favourite and, even if my father won’t admit it, he loved Celio.”

“Yes? Well, I loved Heydar,” Freddie said, folding his arms, his magic thrumming through his veins, bursting to get out. “Maybe your uncle should have thought of that before he killed my son.”

“Speaking of-” Gian broke off, glancing between Roger and Freddie. “Will the Princes be joining us?”

Instantly, Roger growled; his eyes flashed, lightning sparked at his fingertips. “You insolent little-”

“They’re not here,” Freddie said impatiently. Everyone was glaring at Gian; Mary took Freddie’s hand, holding on tight. “Okay? We don’t know where they are, thanks to your father.”

“You don’t know where the Princes are?” Miami- Gian’s- oh goodness, Freddie didn’t know what to call him anymore- anyway, his eyebrows rose in surprise.

_ “No,” _ Roger said tersely, not sparing him a glance.

There was a pause and Miami bit his lip, looking surprisingly shy. Hesitant. Clearly afraid to misstep and incur their combined wrath.

“You can speak,” Freddie said, with a twinge of reluctance. Miami bowed his head.

“I just- forgive me, Your Majesties, but I know where they are. I thought you knew. I thought you were trying to hide them from my father.”

“You know where they are?” Freddie demanded.

“Where are they?” Phoebe asked, fingers digging into the grass.

“Well…” Gian gestured to Freddie and Roger. “They’re _ here. _Can’t you sense them?”

“I haven’t been able to feel anything,” Mary said, paling drastically. 

“I didn’t until the BBC,” Miami said, frowning. “But when you were all fighting, I could sense them there.”

Slowly, barely daring to breathe, Freddie rested his hand on his heart. He closed his eyes, focussed on his magic, fighting to keep his breathing steady. Was it possible? Had the spell, instead of reincarnating them, reverted their sons back to their original forms?

It had inadvertently reverted Michael back to his.

Behind Freddie’s closed eyes, there were small golden sparks, growing and growing, until it took over entirely. No darkness, but a bright golden _ light. _ Warm and achingly familiar; it brought the phantom sense of thin arms wrapping around him, an echo of a voice calling out, _ “Papa, Papa!” _

_ Roshan. _

With a strangled gasp, Freddie’s eyes snapped open. Tears were pouring down his cheeks as he struggled to control himself. Roshan was _ here. _He was here, back inside Freddie’s magic. He’d been the God of Light, a power he’d inherited from Freddie himself.

He looked to Roger, who was bone pale and shaking, his hand still pressed over his heart.

“Roggie?”

“They’re here,” Roger whispered, wiping at his eyes. “Heydar and Cas, they-” He looked at Freddie desperately. “Ro?”

“He’s here,” Freddie said, smiling, laughing, crying. “He’s right here.”

They collapsed into each other, clinging to each other for dear life, sobbing and laughing in intervals. They completely forgot their friends and tentative ally were there, watching with wide eyes.

“You said you felt it at the BBC,” Deacy said quietly to Miami. “When exactly?”

“I could sense Roshan when Freddie killed Celio,” Miami answered, even more quietly. “But I felt all three of them when Vanessa died. Even from outside, I could feel them.” His smile was shy, awkward. “They were helping.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ The court burst into applause as Roshan’s blessing ceremony came to a close. The young god, only sixteen, had officially been declared the God of Light. He finally had an official title and role, and now they could truly start to whisper of his adventures (and misadventures) to the mortals they ruled and protected. _

_ “Not bad, shorty,” Heydar laughed, ruffling Roshan’s hair and knocking his glimmering tiara askew. _

_ “Heydar!” Roshan protested, setting it to rights. “Knock it off!” _

_ “You did well,” Caspian said, smiling at him. “So, what will your first real adventure be, hm?” _

_ “Seducing some Nymphs?” Heydar suggested with a grin. He flung an arm around each of his younger brothers. “Burning some sin-riddled city to the ground? Curse a King with impotence?” _

_ “That’s always a fun one,” Cas acknowledged. _

_ Roshan rolled his eyes, wrinkling his nose. “First of all, _ ew, _ no. Second of all, I don’t want to start off by killing anyone. Third of all- maybe?” _

_ His brothers laughed and Heydar ruffled his hair again, his eyes softening. _

_ “Never say never, Ro.” _

“Never,”_ Roshan said firmly. _

_ “Well, what will you do?” Caspian asked. _

_ Roshan shrugged his thin shoulders, pouting. “I’ll think of something.” _

  
  
  
  
  
  


That night, Brian and John made their way to a museum. A museum they’d been keeping their eyes on, even before they got their memories back.

The museum that had John’s arrows and Brian’s harp. Certainly, a harp would be no good in the fight to come, but it was _ Brian’s; _it had been taken from him and he wanted it back. Now. Tonight.

Just like in London, it was all too easy to disable the security cameras, to knock out the guards. They made their way through the dark rooms, their footsteps echoing. The only light came from the signs above the emergency exits and the moonlight pouring in through the windows.

Brian was nearly skipping with glee as they came upon the room where their belongings were held. Towards the very back of the room was his harp, with Deacy’s sheath of silver arrows right next to it. There were new scratches on the harp and arrows, the metal was dull with age. Most of the strings on his harp were missing.

But it was his. He’d know it anywhere.

He read the display and rolled his eyes. _ ‘Said to be the harp of the Moon God Luan,’ _indeed. Ryu and his cronies had done their work well, he’d admit that. They’d done their level best to wipe Brian and his family from history.

But no more.

John clenched his fist and the glass vanished. He eagerly grabbed the arrows, grinning fit to burst; he was faintly glowing, joy radiating from him. 

Brian felt strangely nervous as he took his harp, but as soon as it was in his hands again he relaxed. It felt _ right. _It felt like coming home. Like a missing piece of him had been found again.

This was _ his. _Maybe it wasn’t some glorious, legendary weapon, but it was his. He’d made it with his own two hands, he’d brought it everywhere with him. It belonged to him, and he wasn’t about to let anyone take it again. Not Ryu or Isabelle, not even the humans. Let them fret over the thievery, it had been stolen from him first.

He clutched the small harp to his chest and beamed at Deacy, his own skin beginning to glitter.

“Let’s get back to the others,” he said, already marching for the door.

They would rest tonight, and train tomorrow. And then, finally, they would well and truly go home.

Forty-eight hours, and this would be over, one way or another.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Freddie and Roger lay in the grass, by a pond. Freddie shivered in the cool air, clinging tighter to Roger. His husband was still inside him, catching him breath, mouthing at Freddie’s neck.

“Do we bring them back yet?” Fredie whispered, but he knew the answer even before he asked.

“It’s not safe yet,” Roger said regretfully. He pulled out slowly and lay down, holding Freddie tightly against his chest. “But once this is over, once Ryu is gone, we’ll have them back. We’ll be together again, all of us.”

Freddie would hold him to that. He held a hand to his heart again, and pressed his ear against Roger’s chest, listening to his husband’s heartbeat, reaching out for his sons.

It was faint, but it was there. He could feel Roshan’s warmth, he could just about sense Caspian and Heydar’s magic, their presence, joined tightly with Roger’s, so tightly it was nearly impossible to differentiate between the three.

But they were there. All of them were there, waiting to be reborn.

  
_ Soon, _ Freddie promised them, promised Roger and himself. _ This will all be alright soon. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so many ideas on what to do with the Froger babies, how to bring them back, if they should have been reborn to different parents already- but, finally, this is what I settled on. The mystery is finally solved!
> 
> Roshan is in Freddie's core due to the similarities in their magic. Heydar is the God of Earth, a power he inherited from Winifred, so he ended up back with Roger. As for Cas, he was a War God too, so back in Roger's core as well. (Also: Roshan says "ew" to the idea of seducing Nymphs, because he's actually aro-ace!)
> 
> Up next: Some training and the gang makes their way back to the heavens to settle old scores.


	26. Ivano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hours before their day of reckoning, Roger allows himself space to feel fear- and meets an unexpected ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been yet another hot minute. Things have been hectic and this story just kept getting pushed back 😭 Thank you for your patience 💕

_ “I do not believe ambitious men who say the only route to peace and prosperity lies in giving them more power- particularly when they do it with lands and people who are not theirs.” _― The Empire of Gold, S.A. Chakraborty, 

  
  
  


Roger didn’t usually consider himself the brooding sort. He preferred laughter, a good time; joy.

But he supposed he’d earned the right to brood for a while.

His friends and allies (and whatever Miami was) were all fast asleep. It was the wee hours of the morning, still dark out. He could hear crickets in the distance and he wandered through the area, silently, slowly, trying to get his thoughts into some semblance of order.

His children were not missing after all. 

His fierce Heydar, his clever Caspian, his sweet Roshan; they’d been with them the whole time, and somehow it felt all too fitting. It almost made him want to laugh. It almost made him want to break down and weep, whether in relief or sorrow he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

He was tired, though he’d never admit it.

Once, Roger had thought dethroning Michael was the hardest thing he’d ever have to do; then he’d thought the first time Freddie was in danger from his enemies was the hardest thing he’d faced- and then there was the time after that, and the time after that. And, the worst of it, the knowledge that his enemies would gladly harm or outright kill his sons, all to get to Roger.

People had tried, but they’d never succeeded.

Not until the new gods came along.

They’d had an army last time, but magic had been dying out for centuries. If Roger called, who would come? How many were left? How many still prayed to Roger instead of Ryu?

Did anyone at all? It wasn’t a cheering prospect.

They’d spent the day of Miami’s arrival and the day after planning, plotting, training, until they had memorised every little detail of their plan. All they could do now was wait, and hope Ryu didn’t track them down in the meantime.

He wondered what was happening in England, and swiftly shoved the thought away. He wondered if they could ever even go back, and tried to push that thought away too. He couldn’t afford to break down, not now.

Roger considered himself a cheerful person, but he needed to cling to his anger now. He couldn’t afford to be overwhelmed, he couldn’t afford to hesitate. He couldn’t let on how badly he yearned for this to finally be over.

Sighing, Roger sat on a rock, closed his eyes and tried to focus, tried to keep his thoughts from flying off in all directions.

_ What if they failed? _ Not possible. He wouldn’t let that happen, he simply _ wouldn’t. _

_ What if they died? _Then they’d face oblivion.

_ What if Freddie died? _Then Roger would die too.

_ What if they won? _He wasn’t sure what would come next if they did, and that frightened him. This wasn’t the world he’d once ruled over: it was very different, all of it. Less magic, but no less adventures. But much less magical creatures, much less humans that prayed to them, or even believed in them at all. He supposed the first step would be to try and rectify what the new gods had done; to try and bring their stories and names back into the world.

And erase the new gods, as they had once done to Roger and his family.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ The soldiers were trembling as they brought Heydar’s body home, wrapped in a shroud- a shroud that was soaked through with blood and it made Roger sick to see it. _

_ Freddie went very still and very pale, but his utter despair was plain: he took one look at the shroud and there was a sudden total eclipse. Roshan tried to rush forward, but Caspian grabbed him back, keeping away from the shroud, quietly urging him to not look. _

_ Roger didn’t hear the quiet, frightened pleading and apologies of the soldiers. He didn’t see the terror on their faces. He barely realised they were there. All he could focus on was the shroud and, slowly, he stepped forward. One step, another, another, and all too soon he was standing over his son’s body. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the cloth away and looked down on Heydar’s face. _

_ Were it not for the gash on his cheek, he would have looked like he was sleeping. _

_ “Which of them did this?” he demanded quietly, swallowing heavily, trying very hard to not be sick right here, in front of everyone. _

_ “It was Celio,” a soldier whispered. And then, as if it was meant to make Roger feel better, he added, “Prince Heydar brutalised him- took an eye…” _

_ “I want that man’s head on a platter,” Roger hissed and, along with Freddie’s eclipse, Roger brought in dark clouds, thunder rolling, lightning striking and a loud, piercing wind picked up, wailing in a way Roger would not yet allow himself too. “I want that bastard dead.” _

  
  
  
  
  
  


Well. Celio was gone now, and Vanessa too. It was better than nothing. And, if nothing else, it brought a smile to Roger’s face. Heydar was beyond harm right now, waiting to be born again. Celio was dead, his soul vanquished, and good riddance. 

They were one step closer to revenge, one step closer to justice, and Roger so desperately didn’t want this to end in disaster again. Everything had already blown up in their faces; their families were taken, Tim was dead, Reid was dead- so many people had been killed, simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It was just one more thing that Ryu had to pay for.

Roger could admit he sometimes wondered what kind of king Ryu had proven himself to be. His myths and legends told of a charming but distant man; a man who avoided war (_ Liar! _part of Roger wanted to scream), but would fight if he deemed it necessary...And when he deemed it necessary, he was ruthless and cold. Was any of it accurate, or was it simply Ryu stroking his own ego? Would the remaining creatures, oracles, sorcerers and sorceresses even welcome Roger and his family back? Or would they resent them?

Resent them for disappearing, or resent them for returning?

Gritting his teeth, Roger buried his face in his hands and allowed himself to scream, exhausted, furious and more frightened than he would ever show. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“...Your Majesty?”

Startled, Roger looked up- and had to bite back a gasp. In front of him was a faun, a gawky lad with freckles and the scruffy beginnings of a beard, nervously kicking his hooves into the ground.

“It _ is _you, isn’t it?” he asked. He looked no older than eighteen. “King Roger?”

“Yes,” Roger said hoarsely. “And who might you be?”

The faun grinned, showing a gap in his front teeth. “I’m Ivano,” he said. More shyly, he added, “My family used to serve yours. We guarded the forests around Rome for you.” His eyes dimmed. “King Ryu made us leave.”

“He made us leave too,” Roger said, and Ivano nodded.

“There’s been rumours for weeks,” he said, hushed and excited. He clenched his fists, standing straight, a determined look in his bright hazel eyes. “You’re going to fight Ryu aren’t you?”

Roger didn’t see much point in denying it. Even if this lad was a spy for Ryu, he was far too late; he’d only be telling Ryu what the man himself already knew.

But Ivano’s smile widened, everything about him bright and hopeful, eager. “Then I want to help,” he said. “I know many who do.”

Standing, Roger smiled and held his hand out. “Do you?”

“Not all of us forgot,” Ivano said. He held Roger’s gaze and took his hand, clasping it tightly. “We remember.”

It answered Roger’s silent questions about Ryu. It told him what he’d once thrown in Ryu’s face; _ “And what kind of king do you think you’ll be? A loved one? A welcomed one? You’ll be welcomed as a usurper and murderer.” _

Roger’s smile widened to a grin. “Then I suppose you’d better come meet my friends.” He turned back the way he’d come, and looked to the sky.

The sun was rising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to get the magical creatures in 👀👀 
> 
> Up next: the start of the battle...


	27. A Call To Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When one god falls, another must take their place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rolls up late with Starbucks*  
Hi.  
So, anyone who follows me on tumblr knows that my mental health took a massive nose-dive. As such, this story was put on the back-burner while I got back into the swing of things. I'm back on my bullshit 💕
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: major character death up ahead

_ _

_ “Everyone’s gone and now we’re without a home. We have destroyed both of our lives. Brother, we will have to be each other’s purpose. Brother, my sentinel, tempest is upon us.”  _ \- This Is A Call, Les Friction

  
  
  


_ She wasn’t aware of much but the pain. The blood on the floor, a pair of tear-filled brown eyes looking at her with agony. Small, gentle hands, cupping her face; a lilting voice calling her name. _

_ “You’re okay, you’re fine, I’ll get you out of here-” _

_ But she knew that wouldn’t happen now. So she did the only thing she could think to do, to still protect her friends, her family. _

_ She summoned every last ounce of power she had and poured it forth. _

_ “Take it,” she choked out, coughing on her own blood. She felt so cold. “T-take...it…” _

  
  
  
  
  
  


They started with hope in their hearts.

Ivano’s family arrived silently, slipping from the trees like ghosts; they beamed at the sight of the old gods, many of them bowing low, or clasping their hands to their hearts. Other creatures came forth; nymphs, centaurs, cyclops; winged-creatures, people whose skin glimmered like stars with oddly coloured eyes, a trio of young men that wore John’s sigil, carrying bows and arrows.

There was more than Roger had hoped for. He knew they were still outnumbered, but there were easily a few hundred people here.

The sun rose steadily, and it was time.

Heart pounding, Roger led the way to his temple. Silently, they all trooped inside, to the remains of the altar.

Who were you supposed to pray to, Roger wondered, when you were a god yourself? It wasn’t a question that had ever plagued him before. 

“Now?” Brian asked.

Roger nodded. “Now.”

Together, in this ancient holy site, this place of worship and magic, they ripped open a portal to the heavens.

To home.

  
  
  
  
  
  


As Miami had promised, the dungeons were much bigger than before. Mary frowned, hidden among the shadows. Even with Miami’s map, she felt turned-around, off balance. 

In Michael’s day, the dungeon had been overcrowded; dark, damp, and the corpses weren’t cleaned out. Prisoners lay with the dead. In Roger’s day, it had been clean, though still dimly lit. Not over-crowded, but certainly still used.

And now, with Ryu in charge, it was a labyrinth of a place.

She had hoped to see at least  _ some  _ familiar corridors, but truth be told, Mary felt like she was walking into the unknown. Next to her, Veronica floated, silent and invisible, only brushing against Mary to let her know she was still there.

Guards stalked past, holding spiked clubs, swords, axes. Some looked like gods, some were monstrous; fangs and scaled green skin, glowing red eyes. She saw some trolls further down, and wondered if Ryu and Isabelle had gone for an old-fashioned Minotaur. Spirits and ghosts perhaps? If she looked closely, she could see slight irregularities in the dark stone floor, the triggers for the traps; an odd shaped tile, a slight bump, a darker colour. A crack in the floor, where she didn’t doubt a trap-door was. She watched the guards steps carefully, watched how easily they avoided the traps.

A guard stalked past with a flaming sword, a hound surrounded by twisting shadows. The dog paused, growling right at her and Veronica, invisible as they were. The guard stopped and frowned at what appeared to be a blank wall. The dog kept growling, and Mary wondered if they’d have to cut them both down right here and now, but one the guard gave an impatient tug on the dog’s leash and walked on. Mary watched them go, frowning, not relaxing until they turned the corner.

Veronica gently touched her shoulder, and they moved forward, following Miami’s map. The Bulsaras, Mays, John’s mother and sister, and the Tetzlaff family. 

_ We’re going to get them out,  _ Mary reminded herself.  _ Spirit them away, back to Rome before anyone can raise the alarm. The Nymphs will guard them. _

Up above, in the palace itself, Roger, Freddie, Brian and John would be hunting down Isabelle and Ryu. And Michael. Oh, how history repeated itself.

The thought of Isabelle made her blood boil. That woman, that bitch, would pay for daring to defile Mary’s realm; for every corrupted soul she released back into the world for her own amusement, Isabelle would pay.

She was so caught up in her thoughts of revenge that it didn’t occur to her just how quiet it had gotten, until they reached the cell.

Only when Veronica pulled the cell open, only when Mary’s father cried out at the sight of her, did she realise that she hadn’t seen a guard or monster for the last two corridors.

“Veronica,” she said quietly, barely a whisper.  _ “Go.” _

“What?” Her friend’s pretty face creased in a frown as the sound of storming footsteps and furious battlecries reached them.

Armed to the teeth, the guards and monsters raced around the corridor, calling for blood.

_ “GO!”  _ Mary screamed. She threw open a portal against the cell’s back wall.  _ “Go, NOW!” _

“Mary-”

She lashed out with the shadows, pushing them all towards the portal. Tears in her eyes, Veronica ushered everyone through. There were so many guards and monsters running toward them that the ground seemed to shake.

Familiar laughter filled the air and Isabelle stepped from the shadows, clapping.

“Oh, bravo, girls,” she said. “It was a good attempt.”

Mary saw no need to dignify that with a response. Snarling, she attacked.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Kashmira watched, huddled against the corner, as Mary and Veronica battled creatures from legend. The portal flickered shut, and she thought she heard her mother scream for her.

If Mary and Veronica were here, that meant Freddie was here.

Her brother, the Sun God. A Queen. And these girls, such sweet, petite girls, battling fiercely, glowing with power. Veronica sucked the air from a monster’s lungs; Mary’s shadows sliced a man clean in half.

And in the midst of it all, that woman with the long dark hair and bright blue eyes stood quite calmly, smiling.

It was a cramped space for a fight.

A powerful gust of wind knocked many of the monsters and guards flying. Some went all the way down the hall; some slammed into the wall and didn’t get back up.

“Get out of here!” Mary yelled at Veronica. Kashmira couldn’t hear Veronica properly over the yelling, but she heard the word  _ “distract,”  _ and then Veronica disappeared from sight. There was a cool gust of air, a faint shimmer in the air and Veronica’s mocking call of, “Come get me then!”

The monsters, some guards and their hounds raced after her. 

The guards moved towards Mary, but Isabelle held her hand up, a silent order to desist. Hidden in the dark, Kashmira watched as the goddesses of the Underworld faced each other. One small and blonde, in a lilac shirt; the other tall and dark, in a black and red gown.

Later, she’d hate herself for not moving.

The shadows lashed out; both women barely moved, looking at each other with naked hate; surrounded by dark streams of magic, their eyes glowing. The ground cracked beneath their feet.

Isabelle flung her arms out; Mary ducked and rolled from the attack. Her shadows lassoed around Isabelle, but the goddess laughed and sank into them, reappearing behind Mary. She grabbed Mary by the neck; Mary elbowed her in the stomach and Isabelle flinched back, gasping.

The guards ran forward, but Kashmira couldn’t tell if it was Mary of Isabelle’s magic holding them back. Possibly both. Clearly, neither of them intended to let anyone interfere. 

The re-directed attacks brought chunks of the ceiling down, and Kashmira crawled under the rickety table in the cell, hands over her head. She should have been quicker to the portal; she shouldn’t have frozen. Awed, frightened, she still should have  _ moved. _

She looked up just in time to see Mary and Isabelle strike each other in the chest.

_ No.  _ A strangled gasp escaped her and Mary caught her eyes as she fell.

The guards roared as Isabelle collapsed on the ground, blood pooling around her. 

“My lady!” A man with horns struggled to lift her. “My lady, stay with us!” Isabelle gasped and shuddered. Even as the guards carried Isabelle away, Kashmira knew there was no saving her.

They were barely out of the cell when Kashmira raced for Mary, but they were either too caught up in their Queen to notice her, or perhaps didn’t consider her, a human girl, any sort of threat. What could she do, lost down here, powerless? Easy pickings.

She wondered if they’d be back for her, once Isabelle died.

All thoughts vanished when Mary coughed, both hands on the bloody wound on her stomach. Near sobbing, Kashmira pulled Mary onto her lap.

“It’s okay,” she babbled, her voice breaking. Tears escaped, falling onto Mary’s face. “I’m right here, you’re alright.” Her chest heaved and she’d never felt so frightened. Not even when the new gods came for her. Not even in her last life. None of it compared to holding her dying friend, knowing full-well her brother was somewhere nearby, fighting the very monsters who had done this to them all.

“I’ll get you out of here,” Kashmira said. Mary’s smile was a weak, trembling thing, heartbreakingly gentle. Kashmira cupped her face in her hands, forcing herself to hold Mary’s fading gaze.

_ I won’t leave you,  _ she thought. Mary, who had found her last time and brought her home to her brother. Mary, who had taken Kashmira under her wing all those centuries ago. The same girl who braided her hair and brought her shopping, who teased Freddie with her. A goddess, a queen in her own right...And simply a girl; Freddie’s friend and Kashmira’s. She couldn’t let her go.

But then an odd thing happened: Mary began to glow a bright, royal blue. Her eyes filled with tears, her shaking was slowing down. The glow  _ lifted  _ from her, hovering in the air, a sheath of glowing blue power. As Kashmira watched it condensed into a ball about the size of her fist, glowing more and more brightly until it hurt to look at it.

“Take it,” Mary choked out, coughing on her own blood. She felt so cold. “T-take...it…” Her trembling hand grasped Kashmira’s wrist. “Fi...Find F-Freddie.” The light was leaving her eyes, but her last, whispered word was fierce;  _ “Win.” _

For Kashmira, time seemed to slow. Mary’s hand fell; Kashmira’s blood roared in her ears. She could barely see past her tears. She wanted nothing more than to break down and scream.  _ Mama, Papa, help me. Freddie, come find me. _

She reached out and took Mary’s power.

It was a shockwave, nearly knocking her onto her back. It felt  _ cold,  _ she felt like her blood had been replaced with ice water; she was shaking, she knew she was screaming, but her own voice sounded very far away. She threw her head back and  _ screamed,  _ all her fear and fury, her desperation. She felt like she could run and never stop. She felt like she could tear the stars from the sky.

When it was over, shadows caressed her skin. She could sense the soul of every poor creature trapped down here, their terror nudging at her senses.

She carried Mary to the table and lay her down, closed her friend’s eyes.

“We’ll win,” she promised, gripping Mary’s hand. She kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

It took everything she had to turn and run. It was far too quiet down here; the screams of the tortured had stopped. The shadows followed her like eager pets and Kashmira didn’t know if she wanted to weep or laugh. She’d never felt like this before, so energetic, so strong- and so bone tired.

A frightened teenager and now, impossibly, the Goddess of the Underworld.

“I’m coming, Fred,” Kashmira whispered as she ran. “Hold on.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


As Kashmira reached the stairs to the dungeons, far up above, Queen Isabelle breathed her last; her last words were a quiet warning to her husband.

King Ryu’s howl of fury and grief shook the heavens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Sorry not sorry 😅
> 
> I've had this planned for Kashmira for quite a while now! It took far too long, but I'm happy this chapter is done. Next up, the battle continues- we see what the boys are up to, and meet up with Veronica


	28. Blood In The Breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle begins in earnest. While Roger and the boys make their way to Ryu, the others face enemies of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse other than I simply wasn't happy with this story and anxiety is a bitch. But then, after months of struggling with this, I decided "Fuck it." We're nearly at the end and I'm not abandoning this story

_“And I see fire, hollowing souls; and I see fire, blood in the breeze. And I hope that you’ll remember me. Oh, should my people fall then surely I'll do the same. Confined in mountain halls, we got too close to the flame.” _\- I See Fire, Zyrah Rose (cover)

  
  
  


Ryu’s howl shook the heavens. They skidded to a halt, watching as fire began to rain from the sky. They could hear minor gods screaming in terror; Brian crept to the window and saw Ryu’s people running for shelter outside. The sky was pitch black; the rain of fire was the only source of light.

“He knows,” Roger said grimly. “He knows we’re here.”

_ “Shit,” _Joe hissed.

“He does know,” a voice agreed, almost pleasantly. A voice Roger had absolutely no patience for.

Glaring, he spun around to face his father.

“Roger,” Michael said. Sparks of lightning flew off him. “Good to see you.”

“Can’t say I feel the same, Michael,” Roger said. He jerked his head down the corridor. “Mind moving aside? I’ve bigger fish to fry.”

Michael’s expression darkened. “You dare talk to me like that?” he demanded. “I made you what you are, you ungrateful-”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Roger said with a smile. “_I _ made me. You had no part in it.”

“You lads go on ahead, Rog,” Jim said. He eyed Michael with disgust. “We’ll handle the riff-raff.”

_ “You?” _ Michael laughed. “It took the _ three _ of them to take me down last time!”

“Even enough odds then,” Joe said cheerfully. “There’s three of us.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed impatiently. “Don’t be stupid, Nymph. They were three of the strongest gods we had. Roger was my heir.”

“When you were king it took all their strength to bring you down,” Phoebe acknowledged. “But you’re not anymore.”

“Enough of this shite,” Jim huffed. With a wave of his hand, a water whip knocked Michael into the wall. Roger, Brian, John, Freddie and Miami wasted no time in running past him.

_ “ROGER!” _Michael roared. He shot out a beam of lightning- and it immediately crashed into a summoned wall of earth. The wall exploded, sending out clumps of earth and little balls of lightning in all directions.

“Now, now, that’s rude,” Joe drawled. “We’re talking to you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Veronica flew down the corridor, just visible enough for the monsters to see her. Only a handful of guards and their hounds had followed her; the rest were hulking monsters with horns and spikes, too many eyes or only one eye, claws and tails.

She just needed to get them away from the dungeons. Then, when they least expected it, she’d turn around and suck the air from their lungs.

She didn’t expect to run into a group of their make-shift soldiers, and Anita, fighting off Ryu’s guards.

_ Damn it, _she thought.

Anita took one look at the monsters running towards them and swore loudly. She glared at Veronica’s faint outline.

_ “Really?” _Anita demanded.

“I didn’t exactly lead them to you on purpose!” Veronica protested. She landed at last, becoming fully visible. She thrust her arms out and their enemies were knocked back, flying down both ends of the corridor. A few crashed into the walls and didn’t get back up. One unlucky soul smashed through the window; his scream echoed as he fell.

“Wow,” Ivano whispered. The guards and monsters were getting back up.

“Everyone, get around me,” Veronica ordered. They immediately obeyed and Anita, knowing Veronica well, threw a shield up. 

Fire was raining from the sky; monsters and hulking guards were running at their little group, armed to the teeth and Anita’s shield was an oddly pretty thing, a stark contrast to everything else; they were standing inside the shield, a half-circle of shimmering pink light.

And Veronica sucked the air from the corridor.

_ To me, _she thought, clenching her fist and the air around them all rushed to her, safely inside the shield.

Their group could still breathe with ease. Their enemies could not.

She closed her eyes, not wanting to watch as they fell. Anita held her arm, rubbing soothing circles into her skin, quietly murmuring that it was okay.

Veronica knew it had to be done. They’d be killed otherwise. These people would shed no tears for her, so why should she feel guilty at all?

She supposed that was the main difference between them.

“It’s over, Ronnie,” Anita murmured. “It’s okay.”

She opened her eyes. Anita lowered the shield.

They were surrounded by bodies. A few had clearly tried to stagger for the broken window, but they hadn’t made it; they were lying limply on the floor, or slumped against the walls.

“My lady, are you okay?” Ivano asked quietly, his eyes bright and earnest, genuinely concerned for her. He was sweet, she thought. He didn’t deserve to be here in this mess.

She managed a small, shaking smile.

“I’ll be fine,” she promised. She wanted John.

“We’d better find the others,” Anita said. She took Veronica’s hand and led the way down the corridor.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Kashmira heard someone howl in fury and pain, and that was when the rain of fire began. She ran down empty corridors, the shadows following her every step. She was just glad she’d stopped glowing.

She could hear people screaming outside, but she didn’t dare look.

This wasn’t Freddie’s work, she knew that; he was the god of the _ sun, _ not _ fire. _So, who…? She racked her memories for information as she ran, trying to remember who could do this.

_ Ryu. _It had to be King Ryu. He was the Fire God of the new gods. And for him to be causing a rain of fire…

_ He knows they’re here, _Kashmira thought. A guard, shaking and clearly frightened, ran at her, screaming, his club raised.

Kashmira held her hand out and the shadows pounced in the shape of wolves. 

She ran past, refusing to stop, refusing to look, doing her best to ignore his screams as the shadows devoured him.

She’d never done this before. She’d never been a fighter, but her brother was going to find Ryu, so Kashmira was going to find Freddie.

As she ran further into the palace, she heard familiar voices yelling. Men, more like boys really, all of them young. Jim, Joe and Phoebe.

_ That’s Michael, _ Kashmira thought blankly. She paused, wrong-footed, blinking in bewilderment. _ That’s Roger’s father. _

Well, Ryu _ had _restored the blasted man’s memories, so she supposed she shouldn’t be too surprised. But he wasn’t who she was looking for.

Snarling, Michael pinned Jim to the wall, one fist raised and encased in lightning. Phoebe screamed; Joe ran forward, blood trickling down his face, the ground shaking with his steps.

Michael brought his fist down-

And, screaming, eyes squeezed shut, Kashmira threw her hands out.

_ “STOP!” _

The shadows obeyed her command, though she didn’t dare look yet, terrified she’d see her friends get killed again.

She just wanted to find her brother.

“Kashi!?” Phoebe gasped and Kashmira dared to open her eyes.

The shadows had torn at Michael; he stood further down the corridor, clutching his mauled arm. His hair was plastered to his forehead; he was already injured from the boys, but now blood poured down his arm rapidly. It looked like it had been torn at by a wild animal.

“What-?” He broke off, gaping at her. “What the fuck _ are _you?”

Kashmira swallowed heavily. Her friends joined her and she wanted nothing more than to ask them to handle this, to direct her to Freddie instead.

“I’m Kashmira,” she said simply. “And I’m Freddie’s sister.” _ I’m the new Goddess of the Underworld, _she thought hysterically. She couldn’t say the words out loud, but the boys didn’t need her to; one look at her and it was obvious.

“Oh, Mary,” Phoebe whispered, tears in his eyes.

“They’re gonna pay for this,” Joe growled.

The four of them stood tall, facing Michael down. He looked at them with utter fury, with hatred. Sparks of lightning started at his feet and slowly made their way up until he was entirely encased in his element, a creature of pure lightning and energy.

A former king. A man who clearly had no intention of losing again.

And, somehow, they would have to kill him.

“Let’s do this,” Jim said.

Together, they charged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, the gang vs Michael


	29. Stand And Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thousands of years ago, it took three of the strongest gods to bring down King Michael.  
This time isn't much different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gang vs Michael

_ “It's the moment of truth, and the moment to lie; the moment to live and the moment to die. The moment to fight, the moment to fight, to fight, to fight, to fight.” _\- This Is War, Thirty Seconds To Mars

  
  
  


It was taking all they had to fight Michael, just as it had once taken Roger, Brian and John’s combined efforts. Two Nymphs, one old god and one new, combining their strength to take down the old king.

Phoebe well remembered the last time Michael had died. He had not been there himself; he’d stayed behind to look after Freddie, but he remembered the storms, the power in the air. He remembered the fear that his friends wouldn’t come back.

That much hadn’t changed.

The fact that Michael underestimated them hadn’t changed either. Phoebe supposed that was one point in their favour.

It was still exhausting. Still dangerous.

And all the while, fire rained from the skies.

_ Doesn’t Ryu care? _ Phoebe thought, although he knew the answer. _ His people are out there. _ He could hear them screaming, trying to flee; the sound embedded itself in Phoebe’s mind and he could never understand how Ryu simply _ didn’t care. _ Or, if he did, he was too far gone to keep caring.

Something had set him off, though Phoebe didn’t have time to puzzle that out. He dodged a blast of lightning, throwing up a shield of earth that shattered in all directions when the lightning hit it. Jim tried to wrap a bubble of water around Michael’s head, to drown him where he stood, but one blast of lightning destroyed the attack before it could hit him.

Smirking at them, Michael aimed at the ceiling. Another blast of magic brought the ceiling down; Kashmira screamed and Joe tackled her back. Glass from the windows littered the floor, along with chunks of marble; the collapsed ceiling lay between them and Michael. None of them had been hit, but it was a close thing.

Michael’s mangled arm hung limply at his side, covered in drying blood. There was a nasty gash across Jim’s forehead and Joe’s nose was bleeding; Phoebe’s ribs hurt and Kashmira gripped her shoulder, which was already black and blue. They were covered in bruises and cuts, dirt and blood.

They looked wretched, Phoebe knew that, but so did Michael.

But a corridor wasn’t the best place to fight him. Going outside would be even worse.

Michael’s fist was encased in lightning. Jim grabbed them and they ran.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“We need somewhere more open,” Phoebe said as they ran. “The corridors are too narrow-” (And he never thought he’d say that about the massive palace hallways) “-it’s too dangerous.”

“Agreed,” Jim panted.

“We can’t go outside,” Kashmira pointed out, clutching a stitch in her side. Michael was fast on their heels; Phoebe ignored the insults that Michael shouted, focussing on dodging or blocking any attacks, and throwing a few of his own over his shoulder.

“The ballroom!” Joe said. “It’s massive, it’s open- let’s go!”

Together, Joe and Phoebe rose the floor into a new wall, completely blocking off the corridor behind them. It wouldn’t stop Michael for long- he’d likely blast his way through- but it was something. It would buy them a little time.

They were nearly to the ballroom when they ran into Anita, Veronica, Ivano and five of their new soldiers. They all looked exhausted and worse for wear.

“Kash!” Veronica gasped. Her eyes widened when she saw the shadows still twisting around Kashmiras face. “Oh,” she whispered. _ “Oh no.” _

Anita gave a tiny pained groan, her hands over her mouth. Phoebe desperately wanted to ask Kashmira what exactly had happened, how it had come to this...But he knew they didn’t have time to stand and talk.

Steeling himself, he pushed their group on, but as they hurried to the ballroom Kashmira spoke up; “Mary and Isabelle killed each other.” Her voice wavered, her eyes were dreadfully dull. She looked around at them all and said, “I want Freddie.”

“We’ll find him,” Phoebe promised, though his every instinct screamed at him to get his friend’s little sister out of here.

Anita looked at the rain of fire. “Well, if the bitch is dead I suppose that explains all _ that. _”

“Good for Mary,” Joe said with a grim smile.

Lightning danced across the walls: Michael was getting closer.

Shoving their grief aside for now, they continued to run.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“You can’t fight him,” Anita told Ivano and the others. “I’m sorry, but he’s too strong for you.”

It was a testament to Michael’s lasting reputation that they didn’t argue otherwise.

“Go,” Anita commanded. “You know your orders: take down Ryu’s soldiers.”

“Yes, my lady,” Ivano said. He and his friends bowed low. “May the heavens bless you.” With that, they were gone.

Which left Anita and her friends standing in the empty ballroom, facing the doorway. It was bizarre, but the ballroom didn’t look too different. Oh, certainly the tapestries and artwork were all different, but mosaic on the floor was the same, the furniture was of similar style from before. The stained glass windows were the same. 

So much of the palace hadn’t looked _ that _different. It threw her for a loop. In many ways, it still felt like home.

This time though, they wouldn’t flee. This time they wouldn’t lose, she was determined about that.

This was _ their _home and they were taking it back.

Michael walked through the open doors quite calmly. Anita shuddered when she looked at his arm. 

“Are we done playing chasing games now?” he asked. His eyes flashed with magic, his voice echoed slightly.

She refused to be afraid of him.

“We’re done,” Anita said pleasantly. With a wave of Veronica’s hand, the doors slammed shut behind Michael. He didn’t flinch at the loud thud, or even look back; his eyes were trained on them. Fury radiated from him.

They were not Roger, but he hated them all the same. It was funny just how long grudges could last when you were a god.

Anita knew the feeling.

“Now,” Jim commanded.

They all joined hands, forming a chain. One by one they started to glow. Kashmira shivered, the shadows bouncing around her anxiously, reacting to her emotions, but she stayed firm. She clasped Veronica and Jim’s hands tightly, glowing brighter and brighter with the rest of them.

There was a flash of fear on Michael’s face, even as he started to glow himself, summoning every bit of magic he had. Lightning encased him from head to foot, so much and so bright that Anita couldn’t see him past it all.

They all attacked at the same time.

Their wave of combined powers lashed out, tearing tiles from the floor and shattering the windows, knocking the furniture flying. Michael’s wave of lightning met it half way, blasting across the room, leaving scorch marks on the walls and ceiling. The chandelier crashed to the floor, scattering chunks of gold and crystals across the floor.

In the midst of it all, their powers clashed with Michael’s. Anita could hear his scream of fury as he pushed back, trying to force their own attack back at them, trying to force his power forward.

Gritting her teeth, clutching Veronica’s hand, Anita closed her eyes and _ focussed. _She turned her attention inward, focussing on her power, summoning everything she had. She tried to keep her breathing calm and even, despite her racing heart. Her magic burned through her, coursing through her veins and she pulled it all to the surface, combining it with her friends.

She could feel their powers around her; Jim, chilled and flowing like a river; Joe, with the smell of damp earth, the quiet strength of a forest. Phoebe, gentle at first but growing stronger and stronger; the power to heal and give life, and the power to take life from the earth around them. Veronica, her warm gentleness turned into a raging hurricane; and Kashmira, cold and _ blazing, _dark and dangerous.

It took all they had to push their wave of power forward. For many long moments, they were stuck in a deadlock as the room shook around them.

In the end, they did it.

With all their rage and grief, with all their hope and strength, they pushed back. There was one last blast of light, blinding even behind Anita’s closed eyelids; she heard Michael scream, in pain and fear this time.

The whole palace shook.

Anita and Phoebe threw up a shield around them all, bracing themselves. The room shuddered as if there was an earthquake (for all she knew maybe they _ had _caused one); chunks and dust fell from the ceiling, the doors were flung off their hinges.

Finally, the shaking stopped.

There was a scorch mark and a puddle of blood on the ground where Michael once stood. His soul floated in the air.

They lowered the shield. Slowly, Kashmira walked forward, her bright brown eyes trained on the soul. She cupped it in her small hands, watching it with a curious frown.

“It’s your choice, Kash,” Jim said. 

Kashmira closed her eyes and clasped the soul tightly. Slowly, oh so slowly, it began to melt away. It dripped to the floor, vanishing before it could reach the tiles; it shimmered and faded and, within seconds, it was gone for good.

“Not again,” Kashmira said, her eyes still closed. “He can’t be given a chance to come back again.”

Honestly, Anita agreed. They’d shown him a sliver of mercy last time, and in the end it hadn’t done them any good.

She wanted to be merciful. She wanted to be _ good. _

Sometimes it wasn’t all black and white.

Kashmira wiped her eyes and turned to them on shaking legs.

“We need to find Freddie,” she said. “And the others. Where are they?”

“I don’t know,” Phoebe admitted. “They went to fight Ryu.”

“The throne room would be my bet,” Jim said, wiping at the dried blood on his face. They all looked worse than ever, drenched in sweat, covered in dirt and drying blood, all of them ashen-faced and shivering from exhaustion. 

But they were gods; that didn’t stop them.

“Then let’s go help our friends,” Phoebe said. Carefully edging around the spot where Michael died, they hurried from the wrecked ballroom.

Michael was dead and gone; Isabelle was dead. Vanessa and Celio were dead. There were other gods to be taken down, more enemies to face, but there was one name on everyone’s minds: _ Ryu. _

It was time to end this once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, at long last, the showdown with Ryu (or at least the beginning of it, who knows how long it'll take)
> 
> (I'm nearly finished this story?? Holy shit???)

**Author's Note:**

> Let the drama commence! Just where is everyone? 😉
> 
> They ARE meant to be Roman gods, but when it comes to finding quotes I like about the Roman gods, I tend to hit walls, so we've got Greek quotes for now I'm afraid.
> 
> INDEX:  
Roger- The God of War and King of the Gods, God of Thunder and Lightning.  
Brian- The Moon God  
Deacy- The God of Crafts  
Freddie- The Sun God and Queen of the Gods, a former human slave  
Mary- Queen of the Underworld  
Phoebe- A healing god and God of the Harvest  
Jim- a water nymph  
Joe- an earth nymph  
Heydar, Caspian and Roshan- Roger and Freddie's children, born through various means of magic


End file.
